It was one of those lazy Saturday mornings growing up. My maternal grandparents had come up for the day and we were enjoying a late breakfast on a sunny, weekend morning. Chairs were pushed slightly back from the table, bellies were patted with satisfaction and my sister and I listened to the low murmur of story-telling with an eagerness that comes with the hunger to be "grown-up." That moment where it's time to clean up but no one wants to hung in the air and a few ignored pancakes lay in the center of the table.
And then, "
Thwap!"
A golden pancake hurtled through the air and landed squarely on the side of my dad's face.
