By Carol Ann Robb

I suspect many daughters will concur with me that finding a suitable, not to mention perfect, Father’s Day gift is not an easy task. Fortunately, that problem was solved for me once I took 8th grade Home Economics and learned the art -- or perhaps it’s a science -- of making a cherry pie.

My father’s earliest memory was watching his mother light three candles on the cherry pie he requested for his third birthday. That continued to be his favorite dessert for the next 90 years. Perhaps mirroring his modest upbringing, his palate never veered towards fancy food; he preferred beef stew to beef bourguignon (I’m not sure he ever sampled the latter). Neither was he a fan of heavily seasoned foods, which he always pronounced as being “too peppery,” so was content with good ol’ Midwestern classics like meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans and, of course, cherry pie.

So, he was one happy father when I came home from school with the news that Mrs. Taylor had taught us how to make a cherry pie that day. And I’m not sure which one of us decided I should show off my newly found skills but from that day on, I became the designated cherry pie baker in the family (a role my mother was happy to turn over to me). Fortunately for all concerned, that was about the same time boxes of pie crust mix began appearing on the shelves of grocery stores since what little skill I possessed did not extend to the making of pie crusts. That was my least favorite part of a pie, possibly because I viewed it only as a vessel to deliver the much tastier filling and a convenient treat to slip to the dog sitting next to my chair. And when frozen crusts and ready-made pie dough came along, I was ecstatic. I applaud all you bakers who make and roll out your own crust, especially those who use lard, which I admit elevates the pie eating experience (as well as cholesterol levels). But I take after my father who also felt the crust came in a poor second after the filling.

For many, the natural accompaniment to a piece of preferably warm pie would be a scoop or two of vanilla ice cream but Art thought differently. His topping of choice was canned whipped cream, AKA “the squirty stuff.” Sometimes we could barely see his piece of pie under the avalanche of that white topping. Actually, that hid the sometimes-well-done crust, so I had no problem with his extravagant use of it.

The other feature of nearly every cherry pie I made for my father was that he had a 90% chance of finding a cherry pit. Of course, that might have happened because he ate more pieces than anyone else. Since I always used canned cherries, I was not responsible for any errant pit; it was just an extra “gift” that fortunately didn’t ever require a dental appointment.

My father soon figured out that he could finagle a cherry pie out of me not just on his December 16th birthday, but also for Father’s Day and Washington’s Birthday (not Presidents Day but February 22nd). Which I did and still do but now I give away the pie. There aren’t many people left who remember my father, but I can always find a deserving someone who’s willing to accept the cherry pie in his honor, always with the warning: watch out for Art’s cherry pit.

Wishing the fathers out there a cherry pie kind of day.