What's for dinner?

Waaaaaay back in time, so long ago, large American cars were cool, school buses took kids to school, bicycles didn't require helmets, pac-man was cutting edge, and I was only eight years old. The year was 1978 and my Mom and Dad's marriage had begun to crumble. Dad was spending a lot of time at my Grandparents' house. It was a heritage home in Ottawa near downtown in a fairly urban area across from a shopping mall. I imagine when it was first purchased by them, it was quite sub-urban. I was naively unaware as to why I was having dinner alone with Dad at 'Gramma and Grampa's' house but as intelligently precocious as any of my own kids today.
Dad was in the kitchen washing dishes. He was facing away from me as I walked in. I noticed that there was soup heating on the stove and I turned to look in the pantry closet where Gramma kept all of her Campbell's soups. I enjoyed reading the large variety of different kinds that she kept so well stocked. The closet was on the opposite wall from the sink and my Dad remained facing away from me as he washed and we talked. He was obviously not aware of what I was examining.
Eventually I came across a can upon which was written a word with which I was unfamiliar. I paused on the 'Chicken Gumbo' can and innocently asked my father, "Dad, what is 'gumbo'?" Without looking at me, he paused from his dish-washing, cocked his head upwards, and pensively responded, "Uuuuum . . . thick mud!" Horrified, I snapped my attention towards the stove and asked, "What's for dinner?! I don't want Campbell's soup!" Curiously, my father turned to see why I had reacted as such. When he spied the can I was staring at, he burst into laughter for several minutes through which he spluttered assurances that we were not having mud for dinner.
The similarly precocious behaviour of Rory, Blair and Milo has made me revisit this memory many times. This one's for you, Dad.

See you in hell,
Shakes.