Yep, those golden circles of goodness. Though most people have had the opportunity to have pancakes in their lives, I was lucky enough for it to be a huge event in my life. My dad, in typical Sunday fashion, would have my sister in I, in our nightgowns, lifted up to the counter and help make a slew of them every Sunday.
I would typically Bogart the stirring in of the eggs, watching the batter turn a yellow while folding the eggs in. We ALWAYS used a wooden spoon to do our stirring. I can remember my dad, with his towel draped across his shoulder, giving us words of encouragement and making the whole ordeal exciting. I would watch him take his ladle and dip it gently into the batter. He would pour the batter on to the hot griddle and I can remember the sizzle sound it would make. It was a science and my dad had perfected it. I loved sitting cross-legged on that counter watching my dad. It made me feel special … HE made me feel special.
When my parents, after my sister and I had longed moved out, gutted the kitchen to install a new more modern kitchen I couldn’t help be sad when the old yellow counters were removed. The majority of my life was spent sitting on or at that counter with years of conversations, laughter, and at times conflict. Though I knew rationally that many more memories would be made in the new kitchen, emotional Marcy just longed to be a little girl for a few more days of making pancakes with my dad.
For father’s day we headed over to my parents house for … you guessed it… pancakes. As I came around the corner of the kitchen I was humbled to see my little Cheyenne mixing the flour and getting the batter ready with my dad. And though she is too big to sit on the counter cross-legged, she was watching my dad like I used to when I was little. She sat with the spatula in her hands while my dad coaching her on when to flip them. It brought tears to my eyes.
You see, in all reality, it’s the small things your parents give you that you cherish the most. It’s not the washer and dryers (though I’m hugely thankful for those gifts and so are my friends) but it’s the times teaching each other while having fun. It’s the moments, as an adult myself, hearing myself telling stories like my parents. It’s catching myself, whenever I cook, with a towel draped across my shoulder. It’s those moments that I stop what I’m doing and think about how much I truly love my parents. I love them! More than they will ever know