Straight from the Pig's Mouth

Judybat's father is both the smartest and the oddest person I've ever met. We call him the Pig. By "we," I mean everyone in the family. By "Pig," I mean exactly what you think I mean: A large, filthy beast with no regard for anyone or anything except maybe the next round of slop. Our Pig isn't large, and he isn't exactly filthy, except when he goes fishing. He fly fishes for trout, and he has too much respect for the poor little guys to actually eat them. Respect apparently only goes so far when it comes to gouging them in the mouth with a hook and yanking them out of the water. But the Pig makes it up to the fish: He kisses them before setting them free. Between that and the amount of garlic he's been known to consume in one sitting, filthy might not be so bad a description.

Other things you should know about the man: He is impossibly generous to his children and their friends. He enjoys the Yankees almost as much as I do. He likes to wander around the house naked. He's convinced he can settle things between the Israelis and the Palestinians by showing them a certain episode of the original "Star Trek." Say something he disagrees with, and you're likely to get a variation on this theme: "I could not disagree with you more. You are absolutely wrong, You could not be more wrong."

We flew east last week planning to surprise Judybat's mother on her 40th birthday. Instead, The Pig ruined the surprise by discussing our plane tickets with us on the phone -- while Judybat's mother was in the room. Still, the trip was worth the pain of watching endless Wiggles DVDs on the flight, and not just because Judybat's mom was so happy to see us.

For instance, there was this exchange on our first night in town:

The Boy, brandishing his blanket at his grandfather: "Pig see blanket! Pig see blanket!"

The Pig: "Oh, you want to show me your blanket? I'll show you my fishing pants!"

And there was this conversation between The Pig and our waiter at a fancy restaurant rated "extraordinary" by the New York Times, which took place after the waiter informed the table that the chef had saved The Pig some . . . yuck . . . salmon skins.

Waiter: "And so, sir, you'll be having skin for your first course?"

The Pig: "And the second. Tell him to give me all he's got. Have him dig it out of the garbage. Heh, heh. I should be charging you for garbage disposal. Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh!"

For the record, salmon skin tastes like fishy bacon. Apparently they're good for you. At least, so says The Pig.