Such a taste for Hot Chocolate. I have such a yen for that sweet Cocoa, creamy Hot Chocolate that Daddy used to make. The kind you could smell on the stove long before your feet hit the floor. The kind that means it’s September and School has begun all over again.
Dad would use canned condensed milk, sugar, Hershey’s Cocoa and whole fresh milk to sucker his tribe of kids into consciousness. Add a little extra buttered crunchy toast and between the sugar and the fat content…we would fairly float away from the table, off to school on a sweet sated yeasty high. I was six years old. And it was wonderful.
That same stove would in years later be turned against me. That Dad was a pretty clever guy- realizing that the sense of smell was so much more important to motivating children and young adults with closed minds and set opinion’s. He would use that same stove after a night of our social drinking, O.K., Carousing to all hours and having a blast. Shortly after crawling into bed, the pungent odor and crackling noise of bacon would waft up the steps and be forever etched into my brain associated with with blinding hangovers and total dehydration. To this day, the mere smell can make me queasy. I am not a bacon lover and can barely tolerate the smell. And don’t get me started on runny eggs. After “tying one on”, an hour or two later there would appear Dad, plate in hand offering Breakfast in Bed, so graciously because he had a favor to ask. How’s about you cut that grass today or maybe catch up on the laundry for him…or maybe tackle the basement? Whatever you think you like, whenever you want. He had some shopping to do or he wouldn’t ask but he really had an enormous amount of shopping to do and could you give him a hand? You would spring from bed just to get away from that plate of mixed up runny eggs, half cooked bacon and burnt toast, all while blessing Dad’s thoughtfulness. And in your mind be swearing off the drinking FOREVER. Sure you’d tell Dad, go ahead, I’ve got it. I’ll start in the basement…and off you’d trundle…blessing kind generous Dad and cursing that selfish bartender yet again.
What a guy, what a great Dad. Without a criticizing word, but with plenty of intent and work he made drinking and the results pretty unpleasant. Brilliant, thoughtful guy, my Dad.