Pancakes, anyone?

Breakfast has always been my favorite meal of the day. Since I was really young, I was used to waking up to the mouth-watering smell of bacon and pancakes greeting me. “If I could only get out of bed,” I thought to myself at 8 o’clock in the morning. When I finally conjured up enough motive and energy to climb out of my warm, inviting bed, I found myself going straight to the dining room table and finding not only bacon and pancakes but also eggs, hashbrowns, a bowl of strawberries and another one of blueberries. My dad never wasted his precious time making toast, rather , he said if I wanted toast I could make it myself. I often thought to myself how funny it was that my dad seemed to be the cook in the household. I chalked it up to my mother’s deep refusal to waking up before 9 o’clock unless totally and completely necessary.
I distinctly remember waking up before my dad on my sixth birthday, waiting patiently for him to start making breakfast so I could beg him to let me flip a pancake. At the time, he still thought I was too little to flip one, but this time he let me. (How could he refuse? It was my birthday, after all.) He set me on the counter, right next to the griddle and put the spatula in my hand. Referring to tips he told me in the past, I waited until I saw enough bubbles- that’s how you knew it was ready to be flipped. And when I flipped it, I made a perfect pancake. Dad was so proud of me at that moment and all I did was flip a pancake well- something I watch him do all the time. I don’t remember much from when I was younger but this memory sticks out to me more than any of them. I think its because I only knew my dad until I was 8 and I’m starting to realize that those memories are few and far between. Pancakes remain my favorite breakfast food to this day.