New way to eat a banana appeals to him

My father-in-law died. Tom Tappan. Down in Athens. Heart issues. A time bomb ticker.

He was an ideal father-in-law. Super nice. Good sense of humor. Our politics matched.

He was the sensitive type, like me, unafraid to display vulnerabilities in full view. A lover of life, though at peace with the letting go.

He liked to make people laugh, much like I do. Therein lies the danger, perhaps.

He was old-school enough for it to be important when I sought the hand of his baby daughter. Granted Brynne was 45 at the time. I was 53. A bit long in the tooth, too. Me, not Brynne … god, not Brynne, my blushing young bride (I’m not a cradle robber by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m not stupid either … Brynne, my middle-aged trophy wife).

I sought permission from Tom over the phone. Assured him it wasn’t a shotgun wedding (I’d present vasectomy papers upon request). Said I loved his daughter. Tom approved. He appreciated the gesture, even though he knew I would be Brynne’s third husband. Old hat by that time. Possibly.

Christ, there’s enough of us for a police lineup now. Did the other two ask for Tom’s permission, too? I hope not. The suck-ups. A trio of the usual husband suspects. At family gatherings, I’m called “Number Three,” which sounds better than “Number Two.” It’s easier for people to keep score.

I didn’t get to spend much time with Tom Tappan, but at least it was long enough for him to teach me how to flip a banana and proceed to peel it from the bottom, not from the stem’s end like normal people. At 50-something, I assumed I had the whole fruit thing figured out. No one had ever corrected me on the art of banana biting before.

How many years did Tom have to wait before getting the opportunity to see a son-in-law actually pull a banana from the bunch and peel it? Had he planted it there in the fruit basket to finally make it happen?

“You’re peeling wrong,” he said.

“Huh?”

He took my banana. Flipped it. Taught me the alternative. It seemed weird, like talking on a phone upside down. My first thought was, “Man, what am I marrying into? This man was truly bananas.”

He handed the banana back to me, albeit upside down – the banana, not Tom. I must admit that the Tom Tappan technique did seem like a more efficient way to strip a banana.

It didn’t taste any different, mind you. It tasted like … well, a banana. There was also the same amount of offal to deal with once it was eaten.

Who taught Tom to shake up societal order and treat a banana differently? Was the 180-degree flip influenced by a jungle documentary? Did he witness wild howler and spider monkeys and capuchins demonstrate this during his Peace Corps years in Nicaragua and Honduras?

Do monkeys even peel bananas? And what do they do with the Dole stickers pulled from the peel?—stick them on the back of other monkey heads as a prank?

I have eaten bananas the Tom Tappan way ever since, even though no one else in the family apparently got the memo. I’ve never seen Brynne peel a banana her “daddy’s way.” Brynne is banana normal. Had she demonstrated such an odd duck way of peeling a banana on our first date, I doubt there would’ve been a second date. A deal-breaker to the undisciplined.

As I write this, I can’t help but wonder if I was the victim of a father-in-law’s practical joke. It’s something he might do. I should’ve inquired at some point, for anytime I’m around fruit now, I seem to carry a complex. Am I chewing an apple right?—peeling an orange right?

A secret taken to the grave, I guess.

I will continue to eat a banana the Tom Tappan way. Practical joke or not, I’m sure he appreciates it. Bottom’s up, Tom.

Email Scott at scottsaalman@gmail.com.