Early morning pancakes
Gaël slept an hour later than normal. Still up at 5:30 AM, but with a flurry of "CUDDLE, CUDDLE, CUDDLE". Burrowing under the covers next to me, he conked out. A little ball of warmth. Couldn't sleep, but who really cares?
After that, it's always the same thing. Pancakes. Other things I've offered: cereal, oatmeal, bacon & eggs, biscuits. But, it has to be pancakes. It MUST be pancakes. Honestly after a few months of eating them with him, I can't really say I blame him. Little bit of butter or bacon fat (or a lot of bacon fat, enough to have it technically be frying). Plop down a generous dollop of batter. Let them get crispy crispy and then hit them with a second shot of butter - pure magic.
We eat the Kodak High Protein Pancake Mix™. Costco sells it and I buy boxes, multiple. I stack them up in my cupboards, my own personal "Pancake Fort Knox™".
Anyway. That morning, while making these perfect little golden disks, my son stands up on his chair. He places his hands on his hips, not unlike his mother - not unlike like Napolean (hands on hips, hips jutted out). He looks at me, points and says, "YOU. YOU. You do a good job".
It was very special for me. I've heard that so much from so many of you and I believe it. But to hear it from the mouth of my son - it felt very validating.
---
Dm sum for brunch. My current opinion is that, this is the one true brunch - taro dumplings are a revelation. After eating on the way back to the train, we encountered a weathered man feeding pigeons. Gaël in his exuberance asked all sort of questions to me about this man...in front of him. Somewhere from the depths of his sleeve he produced another old roll of bread. We spent the next 20 minutes talking to him and scattering crumbs.
At the end he pulled out starburst from another pocket and gave it to Gaël. My initial reaction was hesitance. This man of the street, friend of the pigeons. With dirty fingernails, wrinkled eyes and matted hair. This man was giving my son candy. Produced from a pocket of unknown origin and contents. But then I thought of our conversation, a simple exchange of birds and bread on a sunny day. His instinctive generosity. The kindness in his eyes and words.
I don't know if it was a good decision, but Gaël ate that candy. On the train ride home I started thinking a little about my own preconceived biases. The way they've been formed. How they helped and hurt me navigate a world so full of activity and stimuli. It's hard not to believe that age comes not only with experience, but also cynicism. I want to learn to look at a person deeply. To see them as they are, but also to see them as to what they could be.
---
I normally end these with love. Let me give that to all of you; you know you have it. This time let me add gratitude on top of that. Thank you for getting this far (if you have), for reading these and letting me share little piece of me. It means a lot.
Cowabunga dude,
DJ
PS: Thanks Mom for proofreading
PPS: Sorry about the discombobulation in the last e-mail, let's that one go
After that, it's always the same thing. Pancakes. Other things I've offered: cereal, oatmeal, bacon & eggs, biscuits. But, it has to be pancakes. It MUST be pancakes. Honestly after a few months of eating them with him, I can't really say I blame him. Little bit of butter or bacon fat (or a lot of bacon fat, enough to have it technically be frying). Plop down a generous dollop of batter. Let them get crispy crispy and then hit them with a second shot of butter - pure magic.
We eat the Kodak High Protein Pancake Mix™. Costco sells it and I buy boxes, multiple. I stack them up in my cupboards, my own personal "Pancake Fort Knox™".
Anyway. That morning, while making these perfect little golden disks, my son stands up on his chair. He places his hands on his hips, not unlike his mother - not unlike like Napolean (hands on hips, hips jutted out). He looks at me, points and says, "YOU. YOU. You do a good job".
It was very special for me. I've heard that so much from so many of you and I believe it. But to hear it from the mouth of my son - it felt very validating.
---
Dm sum for brunch. My current opinion is that, this is the one true brunch - taro dumplings are a revelation. After eating on the way back to the train, we encountered a weathered man feeding pigeons. Gaël in his exuberance asked all sort of questions to me about this man...in front of him. Somewhere from the depths of his sleeve he produced another old roll of bread. We spent the next 20 minutes talking to him and scattering crumbs.
At the end he pulled out starburst from another pocket and gave it to Gaël. My initial reaction was hesitance. This man of the street, friend of the pigeons. With dirty fingernails, wrinkled eyes and matted hair. This man was giving my son candy. Produced from a pocket of unknown origin and contents. But then I thought of our conversation, a simple exchange of birds and bread on a sunny day. His instinctive generosity. The kindness in his eyes and words.
I don't know if it was a good decision, but Gaël ate that candy. On the train ride home I started thinking a little about my own preconceived biases. The way they've been formed. How they helped and hurt me navigate a world so full of activity and stimuli. It's hard not to believe that age comes not only with experience, but also cynicism. I want to learn to look at a person deeply. To see them as they are, but also to see them as to what they could be.
---
I normally end these with love. Let me give that to all of you; you know you have it. This time let me add gratitude on top of that. Thank you for getting this far (if you have), for reading these and letting me share little piece of me. It means a lot.
Cowabunga dude,
DJ
PS: Thanks Mom for proofreading
PPS: Sorry about the discombobulation in the last e-mail, let's that one go
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