Blessing #6 -- The embarrassing incident at Booth #2

If you've been to Culver City in the last 5 years, and it seems all 20 million people in Southern California have, you are probably familiar with the S&W Country Diner. Home of authentic home cooked meals and the best (not the fanciest) breakfast in town.

For me, scrambled egga, sausage patties and home fries with fresh cut onion, can't be beat. Deb would always go out of her way to try one of the 837 other items on the menu.

Not many know this, but way back in the late 90's, the place was just known as Sam and Woody's. Sam was a lesbian. And so was Woody. And so were 90% of their clientele. It never phased me until my gay uncle told me that lesbians, and gay men, refer to people like Deb and I as "breeders." 

Which I always found amusing, because let's face it someone has to.

Sam and Woody's was our go-to Sunday Morning NY Times breakfast eatery. Even if it meant waiting for a table. Which it often did because the diner was literally half the space that it is now. And each table was a red vinyl booth. 

I like eating in booths. There's a faux sense of privacy. Plus when melted cheese gets caught in my mustache I don't need to be ridiculed. I just needed a kick under the table from Deb to wipe my face.

When Rachel, our eldest daughter was born, we started bringing the result of our "breeding" to Sam and Woody's. By the time she was six months old, she was a non-stop ball of energy.

While waiting for our food to arrive, Rachel would stand up on the red vinyl bench and make faces, or smile, or otherwise engage the people in the adjoining booth. It never bothered anyone. My 6 month old daughter had a very engaging smile. And an infectious laugh to boot. Still does.

One time we were seated in booth next to a young African American couple. More breeders. They were particularly intrigued with Rachel and started playing Peek a Boo with her. 

As I got a glimpse of the guy, I recognized him as the black doctor in NBC's show ER. He was so enthralled with her that he asked if he could lift her over the bench and give her a hug and put her on his shoulder. She was giggling the whole time so how could we resist.

Deb, a starstruck woman, despite growing up in Los Angeles, was beside herself. If we had iPhones at the time we would have snapped a picture and it would have been texted to 1000 relatives in NY, Florida and Minnesota.

The picture would have been accompanied by a snappy caption from a proud mother. Thankfully, we were spared that embarrassment.

Because after breakfast, we said goodbye to Sam and to Woody and to the big time Hollywood star who had befriended our baby. As we walked out, Deb turned to me and said...

"Oh my good, I can't wait to tell my sisters Rachel got a smile and a hug and a tickle from Laurence Fishburne."

Of course, it wasn't Laurence Fishburne, it was Erik Lasalle, seen here.

When I corrected her, she practically froze from embarrassment. Thankfully, she never addressed him by name. It really was just a simple mistake.

But I never let her forget the incident. 

And whenever we would come across a movie like The Matrix or Searching for Bobby Fischer, I would always needle her with, "Oh look it's Erik Lasalle!"