A Good Morning
about a month ago, I started a tradition of sorts. Every payday, I stop by a bakery over in Plymouth and pick up a couple of donuts. The most desirable of donuts are the plain cake ones or the cake donuts with the chocolate frosting on them. Those are my two favorites. Of course, it sort of depends on when I get to the bakery. Basic rule of thumb with donuts: the longer the day goes, the variety and number of donuts lessens.
Last payday, I got to the bakery about 10 a.m. Getting out of my car I was instantly nervous because the parking lot was packed. However, standing third in line I was relieved to find plenty of donuts in the case. as I waited patiently, I was terrified to hear the person at the front of the line say, “I’d like to get two dozen donuts, please.”
It’s a terrible thing watching everything you love get taken away from you. I helplessly watched as my delicious darlings were ripped from their homes and forced into white cardboard boxes. as the powdered dust cleared, a single tear rolled down my cheek as I discovered that all the plain and chocolate frosted donuts were gone. I silently processed my anguish as the smug destroyer of my hopes and dreams waltzed out of the bakery with her two boxes of donuts.
I took solace in that there were still a couple of cake donuts with yellow frosting and multicolored sprinkles. Looking down, I saw that the father in front of me was holding the hand of his daughter. She looked like she was four or five years old. Panicked, I looked at the case and analyzed what the daughter would choose.
“Daddy, can I get two of the sprinkley ones?” How dare she. I contemplated ripping whatever donuts were handed to her. as a 38-year-old man, it would be so easy to tear a wax paper bag away from a four-yearold. However, once I absconded with the donuts, I would have to deal with the father. He was younger than me and in far better shape athletically. Crestfallen, I knew that I’d have to let the sprinkle donuts go.
as I approached the case, the choices were slim. I ended up getting two cinnamon cake donuts.
Now, I might be over-exaggerating about this particular scenario, it did teach me an important lesson. If you want something bad enough to rob a four-year-old and fight her father... make sure you wake up early and get there so that you don’t have to rob a four-year-old and fight her father.
Speaking of fighting people for stuff, remember when you had to prepare for war when Black Friday rolled around? There’s a website called black friday death count. com that tracked all the deaths and injuries from 2006 to 2021. In that time there were 17 death and 125 injuries. It’s sort of crazy to think that people actually would stampede, pepper spray, and generally hurt someone for material possessions. I mean, even though I joked about fighting someone over a donut, I wouldn’t actually do it.
Now, if the kid had a prune filled paczki, that might be a different story.
Traditions are interesting things, aren’t they? Yahoo defines traditions as “the transmission of customs or beliefs from generation to generation, or the fact of being passed on in this way.”
Looking back over my personal history, my family has had many traditions. Growing up, every Christmas we traveled to my father’s grandparent’s house and there was a huge family Christmas. Every Halloween, my sisters and I would help dad with decorating the house with fake cobwebs and tombstones. When my parents divorced, I was in elementary school. Every three weeks my grandfather would drive all the way from Osceola to North Liberty to pick me up and take me to get a haircut and then to dinner. He would take me to a barber named Ron, located in Osceola. Wherever I was living, he would continue picking me up and treating me to a haircut and dinner all the way until I got engaged in 2008. Back then, I never appreciated the fact that my grandfather drove 109 miles just to take me out for a haircut and dinner. Of course, it wasn’t really about the haircut or the dinner at Bob Evans.
as a divorced middle aged man with no children, most of my family’s traditions will die with me. My three sisters might pass them down, but they’ve got their own families and have developed their own traditions. Traditions are fragile things, it seems.
I do have one tradition that I think I’ll be able to pass on. almost ten years ago, I started taking my niece and nephews out on their birthdays. I pick them up extra early and let them pick whatever restaurant they’d like to go to. Of course, I had to limit them to within the State of Indiana because, as I learned with my grandfather and our tradition, when you’re little you don’t understand distances. One day, I hope they come to understand that the birthday breakfasts weren’t really about getting breakfast.
a few years ago, my oldest nephew got his license. He also had an after-school job and earning his own money.
“Uncle Jim,” he said. “I want to take you to breakfast on your birthday. and I’m driving.”