The grill had been stored in our garage since my in-laws gave it to me months ago, awaiting the perfect moment to be put to use. If our nation's birthday is not the right day for a barbecue, what is?
So I carried the box into the house, opened it up, and began assembling it while seated on the living room floor. There was some trial and error involved: predictably, not all the parts looked in real life like they did in the instruction manual diagrams. As I sat with the pile of parts and the instruction manual spread out before me, my eight-year-old daughter walked by. "Dad!" She said. "You actually know how to read an instruction manual! I'm astonished!"
In short order, I had three daughters: a six-year-old, an eight-year-old, and a nine-year-old, picking up various parts and inspecting them, offering to help, etc. As I juggled bolts, washers, wingnuts, and the three legs that connect to the underside of the grill, the nine-year-old said, "Dad, if you are unable to put that together, I am going to be so disappointed in you!"
Well, stick this in your charcoal grill and smoke it, dear doubting daughters:
Oh and, uh, Happy 240th Birthday, nation.
ThAt is so great, happy fourth of july to all of you!
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