Some memories stay with you in a way that never fades.
When I was little, my dad used to make what I called holy apple pancakes. Not holy like sacred, but holy because they had these funny little holes in them that never looked quite like regular pancakes. They were always a little odd shaped like oblonged and somehow that made them even better.
I can still picture those mornings clearly.
My brother and I would sit at the dining table waiting with anticipation while my dad worked in the kitchen. My mom would be nearby helping him, almost like his assistant, while he took charge of the whole process.
The smell is the first thing I remember.
Fresh apples being peeled, the long curly peels piling up on the counter. The blender ready to grind up the apples. The griddle heating up, waiting for the batter to hit it.
And then the pancakes.
Not perfectly round like you see in cookbooks. My dad’s pancakes had little drips and holes in them, which is exactly how they got their name. They were warm, sweet, and full of apples.
They weren’t something he made all the time. That might be part of why they felt so special.
But on the mornings he did make them, it felt like magic.
As a kid, it felt like my dad could do anything.
Now when I think back on those mornings, I realize it wasn’t really about the pancakes at all. It was about sitting there at the table, watching him in the kitchen, and feeling that quiet excitement and comfort that comes with being a kid in a home where someone is doing something special just for you.
I miss those moments.
Sometimes I wish I could go back in time for just a few minutes. To sit at that table again with my brother, smell the apples, watch my dad at the griddle, and wait for those funny little holy apple pancakes.
Those are the kinds of memories that stay with you forever.
— Jen
Love this.
Thanks!:)