On Fathers Journal Entry #6

Molly’s Journal Entry #6

Food for Thought. Wine for Wonder.

On Fathers.

Father’s Day is coming up, and I’ve been thinking a lot about fathers.

Fathers come in many packages.

My dad, Gary, was my coach more than anything growing up. He had two girls, and I think he loved that we both played sports because coaching was everything to him back then. Conversations with Dad were usually consumed by sports recaps, statistics, scores, highlights, and whatever game had just been played. It was his language.

He had a soft, quiet way of showing love.

He made people laugh. His jean pockets were worn thin from years of carrying loose change. He always smelled like cigarettes. His hands were dry and cracked from working on a paper press. He loved snacks—kind of like me. We were both grazers. He sang loudly and completely off-key in church just to make my sister and me laugh.

He was simple.

He didn’t need much, though I think there was a part of him that always wished he had more, like some of his siblings did. Not because he was greedy, but because he wanted to provide.

He passed away during COVID, and that made an already difficult time even harder.

His health had been declining for years. My mom took care of him with a level of devotion that still amazes me. Watching him lose his mobility, watching his body fail him while his mind remained sharp as a whip, broke something inside me. I think that’s one of the cruelest things life can do to a person. To know exactly who you are, what you want to do, where you want to go—and no longer have a body that will let you.

I know he was embarrassed.

I know he was frustrated.

I know he was angry.

And I don’t blame him.

I remember my early days as a chef. He loved when I came over and cooked for him. Every meal started the same way.

“Dad, taste it before you add more salt and pepper.”

His taste buds had been sacrificed to decades of smoking, and he never listened anyway.

One of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received was getting to feed him his last meal in the hospital before he could no longer eat.

As a chef, that moment means something profound to me.

I remember asking him, “Did it taste good?”

He smiled.

Then shook his head no.

I laughed.

That was Dad.

I know he’d be proud of me now.

I also know he’d be worried sick about how much stress I put on myself every day.

His favorite dish at Molly’s would probably be the walleye or the short ribs. He’d sit quietly, eat every bite, ask for more pepper, and tell me I worked too hard.

I miss him every day.

But I still feel him.

In the way I push myself.

In the way I care for people through food.

In the way I try to make others feel seen.

The older I get, the more I realize fathers aren’t always the men who share our last name.

They come in many forms throughout our lives.

Father-in-laws.

Stepfathers.

Grandfathers.

Great-grandfathers.

Coaches.

Teachers.

Mentors.

The dad of a friend who treated you like one of their own.

Even customers who care enough to check in and ask how you’re really doing.

Father figures are the people who look over you, support you, comfort you, protect you, and quietly help carry your burdens.

Early in Brad and my relationship, he took me on a Harley ride to visit his family several hours away. Along the way, he surprised me with a stop at a cemetery.

He wanted to introduce me to his dad.

His father passed away when Brad was just a baby.

It was one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me.

It showed me a side of Brad I hadn’t seen before—a tenderness beneath all the strength.

I think Brad would have loved being a dad.

And sometimes I think if we’d met earlier in life, maybe we would have figured out a way to raise a child together.

But life unfolds the way it’s meant to.

Instead, we got Horse.

The giant rescue pit bull neither of us knew we needed.

Brad was against getting a dog at first.

Now they’re inseparable.

Dog dad for life.

As Father’s Day approaches, I find myself thinking about all the men who make our lives brighter.

The men who polish your softball glove.

Who sit through dance recitals.

Who teach you how to mow the lawn.

Who take you fishing.

Who take you for boat rides.

Who answer the phone when life falls apart.

Who help you navigate restaurant problems.

Who keep old memories tucked safely in their hearts.

Who show up.

Again and again.

Sometimes quietly.

Sometimes imperfectly.

But always with love.

I see so many of those men in my past, my present, and hopefully my future.

And I am grateful for every one of them.

This Father’s Day, celebrate every father figure in your life.

The biological fathers.

The chosen fathers.

The coaches.

The mentors.

The grandfathers.

The men who helped shape you into who you are.

And if you’re spending this holiday alone, missing someone, carrying grief, or simply wishing you had one more conversation with someone who is gone, know that you’re not alone.

There will always be a seat for you at my restaurant.

A place to share a story.

A memory.

A laugh.

Or even a tear.

Because some holidays aren’t celebrations.

Sometimes they’re remembrances.

And sometimes the best thing we can do is gather together and remember the people who loved us.

To my dad, Gary—

Every day I get up and try to do a little better because of you.

I hope your baby girl is making you proud wherever you are.

And I hope you finally found a meal that doesn’t need more salt and pepper.

“The people we love never really leave us. They live on in the stories we tell, the lessons they taught, and the love we carry forward every day.”

— Molly

©2026 Molly Krinhop. All Rights Reserved.