Dad would stand there at the kitchen stove, a silver pan sitting on the burner. He would add the cooking oil to the pan and make sure the heat was just the right temperature. From the other room you could hear the tink, tink, tink, sizzle, sizzle, sizzle, as each kernel would hit the hot oil as he poured it in. We all knew those sounds. Dad was making stove popped popcorn. The lid would find its way onto the pan, to keep the contents from escaping too soon. Then Dad would move the pan back and forth over the heat, making a low scraping sound with each motion, as the kernels and oil merged.

Then as if out of nowhere the pops would come. Slow at first, then faster and louder. The pop, pop, pop would release the aroma of the treat inside the pan. When the pops would slow, Dad would take the pan off the stove and smile. He would add melted butter to the top of the popcorn and if we were staying at home, he would pour it into a big bowl for all of us to share. If we were going to the Drive-In movies, the popcorn would go into a large brown paper bag, with the top rolled down to seal it closed. My Dad made the best popcorn. Oh, how I miss my dad and his wonderful popcorn.