{"id":75,"date":"2011-01-16T22:16:47","date_gmt":"2011-01-16T22:16:47","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/feedingandrew.com\/?p=75"},"modified":"2011-01-16T22:16:47","modified_gmt":"2011-01-16T22:16:47","slug":"dads-buttermilk-pancakes","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/feedingandrew.com\/?p=75","title":{"rendered":"“Dad’s” Buttermilk Pancakes"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Once I made the decision to keep Andrew out of the foster system, it was only a matter of days before he was living with me.\u00a0 In fact,\u00a0 he was a student on a Friday morning and “my son” by Friday afternoon. \u00a0 This quick transition made for some uncomfortable times in the beginning.\u00a0 As a teacher, you are expected to keep a proper distance from your students: no hugs, no lap sitting, no kisses, no spanking.\u00a0 These are the things that can change your name from Mr. Wilson to Lester the Molester in a matter of minutes.\u00a0 \u00a0 As a parent, the lack of these very same things make you cold, callous, and on track for raising the next “Most Wanted” poster child.<\/p>\n

I’ll never forget that first night.\u00a0 It all went fine and I put him to bed on the couch (didn’t even have a bed for him yet) and I was soon fast asleep too.\u00a0 I woke up in the middle of the night with the night sweats and the feeling that I had swallowed 50 or so large river stones. \u00a0 The permanence of this decision hit me so hard I could barely breath; no returns on this purchase.<\/p>\n

Somehow, I managed to fall back asleep only to be awakened by someone crawling into my bed.\u00a0 OH MY GOD! \u00a0 I was now under the covers with my student and in our underwear.\u00a0 He was scared from a bad dream and wanted to cuddle.\u00a0 Somehow I managed to scrunch up enough bedspread between us to allow for a cuddle without major contact.\u00a0 He fell fast asleep and I laid face up, eyes wide open, until morning. \u00a0 I just couldn’t shake the “he’s my student” feeling.<\/p>\n

Still, morning came and with it all the obligations of child care.\u00a0 Namely, food.\u00a0 I fixed him my grandmother’s cornmeal molasses pancakes, bacon, and fresh orange juice.\u00a0 This meal gave way to lunch.\u00a0 Lunch led to dinner.\u00a0 Dinner led to the next morning and my routine for the next\u00a0 nine years had begun.\u00a0 With each meal prepared, a river stone was lifted and the heaviness of the decision grew lighter everyday.<\/p>\n

About a month passed and normalcy started to really set in – except in public when Andrew was holding my hand, getting scolded (this happened A LOT in the beginning) or was being affectionate with me and calling me Mr. Wilson in his very loud voice. \u00a0 That “I’m a creepy guy” feeling would come over me and I felt all eyes on me. \u00a0 After one such incident at a grocery store I sat him down at the kitchen table to talk.<\/p>\n

“Andrew, you know, you are going to be with me until you grow up and go to college.”<\/p>\n

“Uh-hu,”\u00a0 he answered.<\/p>\n

“Well, I think we need to come up with a different name for you to call me.\u00a0 I don’t think Mr. Wilson really works anymore.”<\/p>\n

“What can I call you then?”<\/p>\n

“You can call me Don.\u00a0 That’s my name.\u00a0 Or you can call me a made-up name.”\u00a0 I told him.<\/p>\n

“Like what?” he pressed.<\/p>\n

“My nieces and nephews call my mom GG.\u00a0 It stands for Great Grandma so she doesn’t get confused with their other grandma.”<\/p>\n

Andrew sat there a moment thinking about this and you could see the thoughts churning.\u00a0 I was waiting for a doozy.\u00a0 Something crazy that only Andrew would think up.<\/p>\n

He looked away from me and stared out the kitchen door.<\/p>\n

Finally, he asked,\u00a0 “Can I call you Dad?”<\/p>\n

This was not what I had expected, but I didn’t miss a beat,\u00a0 “Of course, you can.\u00a0 That’s who I am.\u00a0 I’m your dad and will be for the rest of your life.”<\/p>\n

It wasn’t until later in the day that he tried it our for the first time.<\/p>\n

“Dad?”\u00a0 he called out from his room.<\/p>\n

I looked around to see who he was talking to.\u00a0 Suddenly, the lightbulb came on.<\/p>\n

“Yes, Andrew?”\u00a0 I called back.<\/p>\n

There were a few more tentative attempts and when he got an affirmation that there was an answer at the other end of that “dad,” a flood gate opened and “dad” started to pour out.<\/p>\n

“Dad?”\u00a0 “Dad?”\u00a0 “Dad?”\u00a0 It came out about three or four hundred times a day for the first few weeks.<\/p>\n

Soon enough, however, his psyche was convinced he really was a son with a dad and the flash flood turned to a gentle river of fatherly names.\u00a0 Dad went to daddy.\u00a0 Daddy to papi.\u00a0 Papi to pops.\u00a0 Nowadays,\u00a0 I’m dad or pops.\u00a0 And like every other parent, I can distinguish his “dad” from a whole soccer team of boys calling after their fathers.<\/p>\n

Five years have passed since those first “dad” attempts and I’m more dad than I ever could have imagined.\u00a0 Every “dad,” every hug, every kiss is a cherished gift. \u00a0 I can’t believe I have only five more years of hearing my new name called out around the house.\u00a0 I wish I could go back and bottle all the thousands of first “dads” he let fly and keep them in the larder for the years after he’s spread his wings and flown away.<\/p>\n

For now, I get to wake tomorrow morning, cook up those same pancakes he had on his first day at the house, and yell out,\u00a0 “Son, get up.\u00a0 Breakfast is ready.” \u00a0 It won’t take long for my reward, “O.K. dad, I’ll be there in a minute.”<\/p>\n

____________________________<\/p>\n

Andrew didn’t like pancakes when he first came to live with me.\u00a0 He let me know this in no uncertain terms that first morning.\u00a0 I quickly devised the first of many little culinary white lies that worked like a charm to get Andrew to try something new or different.<\/p>\n

“I’m not making pancakes,” I told him.\u00a0 “These are flapjacks and they are made from a secret recipe that my grandmother used almost 100 years ago.”<\/p>\n

He loved them and has enjoyed them hundreds of times since.\u00a0 It’s a bit of a weekend ritual.<\/p>\n

My Grandmother, Emma Delphis,\u00a0 left her family and farm in Iowa during the early 1920’s and was a farmhand cook in Nevada for years.\u00a0 She would cook for 30 or 40 men every morning on a wood burning oven that they had to fire up around three A.M. \u00a0 This recipe has been in the family since that time. \u00a0 My siblings and I call them Grandma’s pancakes, but I bet Andrew will call them “Dad’s pancakes” when he makes them for his kids someday.<\/p>\n

Emma Delphis’s Cornmeal Pancakes.<\/p>\n

1 egg<\/p>\n

1 1\/4 c. buttermilk<\/p>\n

1 Tbsp. molasses<\/p>\n

1\/4 c. corn oil (we use olive oil these days and love it)<\/p>\n

3\/4 c. yellow corn meal<\/p>\n

3\/4 c. flour<\/p>\n

1 tsp. salt<\/p>\n

1\/2 tsp. baking soda<\/p>\n

1 tsp. baking powder<\/p>\n

Put buttermilk, egg, oil, and molasses together.\u00a0 Put the rest of the ingredients through a sifter and into the bowl; mix.\u00a0 Cook in butter or left over bacon grease.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Provecho!\u00a0 (Loosely translated it means enjoy.\u00a0 However, it really means “may you take advantage of the meal before you for your pleasure and health)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Once I made the decision to keep Andrew out of the foster system, it was only a matter of days before he was living with me.\u00a0 In fact,\u00a0 he was a student on a Friday morning and “my son” by Friday afternoon. \u00a0 This quick transition made for some uncomfortable times in the beginning.\u00a0 As […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-75","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-recipes"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/feedingandrew.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/75","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/feedingandrew.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/feedingandrew.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/feedingandrew.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/feedingandrew.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=75"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/feedingandrew.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/75\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":972,"href":"https:\/\/feedingandrew.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/75\/revisions\/972"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/feedingandrew.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=75"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/feedingandrew.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=75"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/feedingandrew.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=75"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}