Because Dad used to sometimes come into a room, clear his throat, stand straight, raise an index finger, and portentiously announce, “Smudbone.”
And now I’m a dad, so sometimes I just have to come in and say it. Smudbone.
ABOUT THE PHOTO
No photo is known to exist of Dad saying “smudbone.” Here he is resting his eyes on that exercise thing we used to have, with the foam pad on top of it. The marble top table is on Audience Left, below the window, which reveals a stage in the life of what are now towering trees. I might have that Muriel Cigar box. The chair it’s sitting on is in my garage, awaiting refinishing and new cushions. Shhh. He might be dreaming that he’s saying smudbone.