Do you remember when new trends hit? Like guacamole. Or ranch dressing. My dad was always foodventerous, so he’d bring these exciting edible finds home to share. In junior high, it was sushi.

I’d have been 12–13. I don’t know how Dad dadded, but he figured out the construction of a California roll, bought the mat, the sheets of seaweed—and he had fun! He’d slice up that English cucumber like an ancient samurai! I was underfoot like America’s favorite pet, just waiting for him to drop something I could gobble up!

After he mastered the technique, he taught me, and not to bang my own taiko, but I was pretty good. I had the dexterity of a quilter with the chubby-fingered grip of a fat kid holding a soft-serve cone from Holiday.

In 8th grade, I wasn’t a total screw-up yet, so when my cooking teacher said extra credit was welcomed… I knew just how to origami my way straight to Mrs. Nakamura’s heart… sushi.

I got an F.

I cried.

My dad went Godzilla on her and demanded an explanation. The teacher said the point of cooking class was for students to do the actual cooking. Extra credit was not given for restaurant wares. Dad told her a restaurant would serve rolls equal in size, but I wasn’t that good with a knife yet.

She changed the grade to an A. It was the third F-to-A turnaround, the third time I’d been falsely accused of cheating. Eighth grade was my origin story… but I won’t digress.

Every time I see sushi, I think of my dad. And Mrs. Nakamura.

Happy Heavenly Birthday, Dad.

Suck it, Mrs. Nakamura.