On Sunday mornings, some people believe in having crispy bacon, or fluffy scrambled eggs. Some believe in perfectly brown waffles while the stimulating scent of sausage wafts through the air. There are also some who believe in their artificially sweetened “whole grain”cereal with day old Vitamin D milk. But me, i believe in Sunday morning pancakes, and maybe a nice full cup of Simply Orange.
As probably assumed, I sincerely look forward to Sunday mornings, and my dad’s pancakes that they promise. Surely i could live without them, but why would i want to? I have always taken comfort in waking up to the heavenly aroma making its way through every crevice of my house, as my dad calls to me “You ready for a pancake, Kase?”. A question with a definite answer of “yes.”
There have been very few Sunday mornings in my life that went pancake-less. Those days were filled with some sort of empty feeling pumping through my veins with every heartbeat. A feeling i dread revisiting. I would go through the day feeling unlucky, empty, and all around angry because something I believed in didn’t come. But thankfully, that is only on rare occasion’s.
My dad wakes up as early as the sun on Sunday mornings to craft his fluffy little masterpieces. He makes the batter soon after becoming fully conscious and beings to pour and make until the lining of the silver bowl is completely present. Then, the moment of truth. I come to the table and sit down behind my plate. A perfect little square of salted butter slides around the top of my pancake as i prepare the syrup. No, not Mrs. Buttersworth. I believe in complimenting my perfect little cake with grade A, 100% pure maple syrup. After slightly drowning my pancake in the cool syrupy goodness, I’m ready to start believing all over again.
From the moment my teeth first puncture the first bite, to the last little drip of syrup i lick off of my plate, i am wholly satisfied. Nothing can go wrong on a Sunday morning filled with pancakes. To me, no feeling can compare the one i feel with a nice full stomach and the taste of syrup lingering on my tongue. Pancakes are incredible. This I believe.
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