Sean of the South By Sean Dietrich: Fourth of July

On my kitchen counter is a pound cake, sitting on a pedestal, beneath a glass dome.

Pound cake is the food of summer. It can make or break the entire season. A summer without pound cake is like church without singing. Or Monet without color. Or Andy without Barney.

When I was a younger man, my soon-to-be wife and I went through mandatory marriage counseling at our church. It was miserable. The minister was so uptight that he could have carried a corn cob without using his hands.

The pastor asked me what my “love language” was.

“My what?” I said.

“Your love language,” he said. “How do you receive love?”

“Come again?”

“Food,” my wife interjected. “Sean’s love language is pound cake, and so is mine. We speak Food.”

That preacher looked at us like we had June bugs crawling out our noses. And I never forgot that.

Because my wife was right. We speak Food. Food has always helped me through life. I use fried chicken to fend off existential doubt. Pimento cheese gives me courage. And pound cake restoreth my soul.

And yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of High Cholesterol, I will fear no egg yolks, for Thou art with me.

Speaking of food, I smell steaks cooking on a grill. My neighbor  is having a holiday cookout and he is speaking my “love language” fluently.

It’s Fourth-of-July week and every house on our street has a driveway full of cars. There are American flags flying on every post, mailbox, and car antenna.

People linger on porches, holding bottles and aluminum cans, eating ridiculous amounts of goodies and laughing a lot.

The sun is low. I hear firecrackers in the distance. They sound like bottle rockets.

Soon, I hear the sound of ceramic casserole dishes on their porch. And the happy chatter of voices. And the sounds of forks and spoons.

This is a cross-section of old-fashioned America to me. Casseroles, kids, and laughter.

A radio accompanies their supper. The sound of the Temptations, singing “I Heard it Through the Grapevine.”

And I remember when my mother once danced with me on the porch to this very song. She spun me around, and showed me how to move my feet. We really cut a rug. You don’t get over memories like that.

On a day like today, I am left wondering how it happened. How did I get middle-aged? Where did my life go? Once, I used to be a boy, fearless, fast, with a hollow leg. How did I develop love handles, old-man toenails, and a bad back?

I am interrupted.

My wife walks onto our porch. She is carrying a pedestal with a golden cake beneath a glass dome. She cuts two slices and serves them with fresh strawberries, and pours iced tea into jelly jars.

We don’t speak to each other because we’re too busy eating. We only smile with our mouths full, then touch the rims of our jelly jars together.

It’s a holiday, and there’s no need to say much today. After all, I know what she’s saying, and she knows what my heart is saying back.

She’s saying, “The pound cake came out good, didn’t it?”

And I’m saying, “I love you so much it hurts.”

I know all this because, like my wife told the man, we speak Food.

Happy Fourth of July.

Sean Dietrich is a columnist and novelist known for his commentary on life in the American South. He has authored nine books and is the creator of the “Sean of the South” blog and podcast.