I told my dad I loved tomatoes 8 years ago. He has built his entire retirement around this lie.

I hate tomatoes. Not tomato sauce, not ketchup, not pizza. Just actual tomatoes. The texture makes me gag. I've been like this since I was a kid. My dad apparently forgot. When he retired eight years ago, he started growing vegetables in his backyard. That first summer he brought me a bag of tomatoes he'd grown himself and asked me to try one. He was so proud of them. He'd spent weeks talking about soil and watering schedules and whatever was eating the leaves. I took a bite, managed to swallow it, and said it was probably the best tomato I'd ever had. I figured that was the end of it. It was not. The next summer he planted extra tomato plants specifically for me. He started experimenting with different varieties because, according to him, "you can't beat a proper homegrown tomato." Every couple of weeks he'd show up with another bag. I took them to work. My coworkers loved them. One woman started bringing me homemade bread in exchange. At one point I was basically running an unauthorized produce exchange out of the office kitchen. Dad thought I was making salads. Over the years this has gotten completely out of hand. He sends me pictures of the plants. He asks which varieties I prefer. I have actual opinions about tomatoes now despite never eating any of them. The little yellow ones are apparently sweeter. The big ugly ones are better for sandwiches. I've learned all of this through feedback from people at work. Last year he started putting little wooden markers next to certain plants with my name on them. MY NAME. There is literally a designated section of his garden devoted to producing vegetables I cannot stand. And here's the part that makes me feel genuinely shitty. He loves doing this. My dad was pretty miserable during his first year of retirement. He'd worked since he was seventeen and didn't know what to do with himself. The garden gave him something to get up for. He talks to me more now than he did when I was growing up. Half our conversations are about what he's planting or how the weather has affected the tomatoes. A few months ago he told my sister that one of his favorite things about retirement was being able to grow food for his kids. She knows I hate tomatoes. She looked at me like I'd committed a crime. I told her I didn't have the heart to tell him. She said, "You realize he's going to die thinking you're a tomato person." I laughed, but that actually bothered me. He's already looking at seed catalogs for next spring. He sent me a picture of a greenhouse kit last week and said he was thinking about getting one so he could start growing earlier. I haven't replied to that message yet. I started this because I didn't want to hurt his feelings over one tomato. Eight years later I'm apparently the reason a retired man is considering building an agricultural facility. And he has absolutely no idea.