We lived in the north, and when I was ten years old, my southern grandmother visited us and stayed for a few days. At dinner one night, my father, whose name was Paul, finished his plate early, and Grandma said to him, "Have another pawk chop, Paul."

That just cracked me up the way she said it, and I started repeating it over and over. It became a family joke.

When he turned 70, I wrote and presented this poem to him at a big dinner party. He was very amused.

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