Gingersnaps

Gingersnaps

This is one of my family’s favorite stories to tell, but we all have a slightly different take on it. This is my take...

                My mom was a baker. We thought she started “Karen’s Cakes” because she was such a good baker. We give her credit for all of the delicious family recipes that became tradition, even though she got most of them from my grandma. When we were young, my parents told us that my mom didn’t know how to cook until she got married. Once she got married, she learned to cook, and when she had kids, her cooking became as dynamite as her baking!

                Becky is a baker also. She always has been. She started baking at a very young age and while Greg was making his famous bologna bowls for everyone, Becky was making cookies. She has always been good at baking, and when kids in grade school volunteered their mothers to make cakes and cookies for bake sales, Becky volunteered herself.

                Like everyone who does something, Becky tried different recipes and made mistakes early on. The biggest mistake she made, though, was letting her big brothers and sister taste her I-accidentally-used-confectioner-sugar-intstead-of-granulated-sugar cookies before she tasted them herself and noticed her mistake. Being the youngest of four kids, Becky definitely got the brunt of the teasing. We were told not to dish it if we couldn’t take it, and we were ready for Becky to tease back… she just chose not to.

                At dinner that evening, the banter continued. Becky reached her breaking point and got up from the table, bumping her table with the chair as she shoved it in. She hurried down the hall, and when she was nearly to her room, I made one more jerky comment.

                Sweet, adorable seven-year-old Becky turned around, pointed her middle finger up to the sky, and yelled, “#$*@ YOU!!!” before finishing her run and slamming the door behind her.

                We all started, slack jawed at my dad, waiting to see what he would do. His eyes were nearly bugging out of his head, and then he gave a little look as if to say, “You guys deserved that,” and my mom gently left the table and headed toward Becky’s room.

                We may have thought Becky was getting in trouble, but we knew it was really us who deserved a lecture. What I found out years later was that Becky was not getting lectured. Mom was offering comfort regarding Becky’s baking mistake and provided positive encouragement to help her get past the mean comments from her siblings.

                Fortunately for the rest of us, Becky didn’t give up on baking, and once she used the very colorful language that she learned from the girl across the street, she was much more effective at standing up for herself. Wasn’t that just like Mom, though? Don’t get mad… Understand.