In the morning, I’m a short order cook. My wife and kids call out their preference and I get to work.
“Ham and cheese omelet, daddy!”
“Two eggs sunny side up with toast, daddy!”
And the ever popular… “Pancakes with fruit and Nutella, daddy!”
I get to work, playfully ushering everyone out of the kitchen. “Don’t interrupt the chef! Don’t interrupt the chef!”
This isn’t every day, this is the weekends. This is Saturday morning. My wife will not touch a skillet or a spatula before noon. Breakfast is my domain.
I’ve gotten pretty good at it.
I’ve learned that the secret with the omelet is to turn down the heat once you’ve poured in the eggs. Also, cover it and let it sit while you butter the toast. If you start every element at the appropriate time, they are all ready, like magic, at the same moment.
“Order up!”
“Daddy, I prefer the butter to be uniformly distributed on my toast!”
“Okay, you’re going to have to be responsible for that.”
Whenever I get up and make breakfast, I’m always reminded that my dad refused to cook for us. He only made pancakes at the hunting shack. They were so thick with butter they made you gag.
He made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich only once. He slapped so much jelly on it that the bread was completely soaked through by the time I opened the bag at school. I never asked him to make me a sandwich again. I guess that was the point.
I still remember how opening my lunch bag and looking at that sandwich made me angry. How great of an inconvenience would it have been to just make a decent sandwich? Make the sandwich with a little affection? Think about what you’re doing and make it right?
Why not do that?
I’d been looking forward to eating that sandwich. Seeing that pitiful, sloppy mess was a gut punch.
It was like he deliberately sent me a message of scorn. “You mean so little to me that I’m going to slap jelly on this bread like I’m mad at it. Do you taste that anger? Choke on it. Hahaha!”
I bet he doesn’t even remember that moment.
But I do.
That’s the whole trick to being a parent. You have to understand that your kids will remember your petty behaviors. They’ll be very hurt by them.
The solution is simple, do everything with love.
It’s a good practice.
I started being mindful out of fear that my children would dislike me. It turned out, I got as much or more from adopting a loving attitude as they did.
It’s true.
When my grandma came to visit when my daughter was born, she was surprised to find me holding her. “My father would have never held a baby,” she said.
“Then I pity your father.”
That statement was considered disrespectful.
Telling the truth often is.
Our society isn’t built to allow men to get involved, but that’s no excuse. When my daughters were born, I made sure they fell asleep on my chest every day.
You need that.
You don’t know what it means to be a parent unless you do that.
Society needs to recognize that the dad lags behind the mom. Mom had the wonderful darlings growing inside her. That connection is ironclad. Dad needs to develop his.
Sure, you love them when they’re conceived.
You love them as you feel them kick in the belly.
You love them when they’re born.
But it’s not until they’ve fallen asleep on your chest every day that you start to comprehend the power of that love, and what you might miss if you don’t participate.
You need to let your kids know you love them every single day. Just tell them. Some men aren’t man enough to tell their children that they love them.
After you tell them, you show them, and you keep on showing them until your last breath on this Earth.
Cooking breakfast takes forty minutes.
Get up, crack the eggs, take the orders.
“Sunny side up, daddy!”
“Yes dear!”
“Bacon and egg omelet daddy!”
“Okay!”
“PANCAKES!”
“Got it!”
Do it right. It’s not enough to just do it. Watch YouTube videos. Give your kids a gourmet meal. Make every dish with love. Cook for your kids.
Breakfast is easy! My wife gave me breakfast because even I couldn’t screw it up. “Honey! Breakfast!” she calls out from the couch.
Still, I’m a slow learner. I’ve been doing this for ten years. Now, I do these Dutch oven roasts. I’m the one responsible for the Thanksgiving turkey. I make glazed ham once a week because it’s inexpensive and delicious and it’s good to have extra ham in the fridge for sandwiches.
Mom’s happier when she comes home from work and has something hot to put in her stomach.
Grilled cheese. Make your kids grilled cheese.
Stop and think about it for a minute. Forget about video games and cell phones and expensive clothing. Think of that warm feeling you get when somebody hands you something delicious.
“Thank you!”
That warm feeling settles into their stomachs and spreads through their bodies and nourishes them and makes them feel content.
That’s love.
Some dads aren’t aware that their kids need food. Some dads can’t anticipate when a child is going to get hungry. They don’t even think about it. They throw a sloppy PB&J at them like a dog and call it good.
If you aren’t man enough to tell your children that you love them, then you can at least show them you love them with food.
Maybe one day you’ll be able to grow up enough to say the words.
If you show your kids you love them with food, they’ll grow up strong and content.
“Daddy, there’s one pancake left, do you want it?”
“No, you eat it. I’m nourished already.”
“Thanks daddy!”
“You’re welcome sweetie.”
Make your kids breakfast.
You’re welcome.
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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.
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You may also like these posts on The Good Men Project:
Escape the Act Like a Man Box | What We Talk About When We Talk About Men | Why I Don’t Want to Talk About Race | The First Myth of the Patriarchy: The Acorn on the Pillow |
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Photo credit: Shutterstock
Great and I relate. Made my kids breakfast every day for years. Then wrote the book about it. Gratifying for me, nutritious for them, happy making for everyone.
Rob Rosenthal
aka Short Order Dad