Flapjacks

Because she was 12 when I was born, Pam loved to take care of me like I was her little girl. She tried to make everything fun...I was reminded of this when I made pancakes on Saturday morning. When the little dribbles on the skillet got crispy, I gave them to Emma and told her they were teeny, tiny, baby pancakes. Way back when Pam made them for me, she would try to flip over even the smallest drops of batter, so she could put a little pile of them on my plate.

Sometimes she even added food coloring to make the meal interesting. One time, we were out of orange and red, so she used green. Apparently she didn't foresee the problem I would have eating green pancakes...I must have been 5 or 6, and I remember looking at them on my plate and feeling queasy. I ate them, but it was not a happy breakfast. Pam kept telling me there was nothing wrong with them. I saw her put the coloring in, but it bothered me...especially the way the green mush spread into the syrup. Immediately after I finished, I had to run to the bathroom to get sick. Yes, I puked up the "bad" pancakes!

Pam rarely teased me, but I do remember that she made fun of me for a long time after that one. Maybe next time I'll make Emma some pink ones...definitely not green, or even worse, blue! Blech.