I’m not sure I can think of a better way to start a morning than to sip my first cup of coffee on a balcony overlooking the ocean, watching a few puffy white clouds above blue water and listening to the rhythm of the surf lapping at the sugar-white sand of Alabama’s Gulf Coast, accompanied by my grandson, Aaron, and chatting about important world events—baseball and fishing.
Well maybe having another grandson, Hunter, volunteer to help me make pancakes (Bubbacakes to the boys) is equally enjoyable. Hunter does most of the hard work, following my meticulous recipe to the letter: break an egg in the bowl; stir it up; add some milk; stir it up; add some flour and stir that up too. Add some more milk, add some more flour. Repeat the process until the batter looks and feels about right. Pour onto hot griddle.
I’m not certain I can make enough Bubbacakes to fill these two up. They eat them slathered with butter and drowned with syrup and they eat them plain, hot off the griddle or cold off the platter. I can only surmise that the exquisite taste of the pancakes and the secret ingredients make them too good to pass up. Or it could have more to do with the ravenous appetites of ten and 12-year old boys.
Also of interest: ten and 12-year old boys contain enough energy to power a small village. In contrast, a 65- year old grandpa (Bubba) can’t generate enough ohms to turn on a flashlight. They also have wicked wits. Following a mishap in the preparation of a mac and cheese lunch Hunter claimed “lack of supervision” as the primary cause of the minor mistake.
Boys this age also have no perception of water temperature and they will not tell you the truth about how cold it is. But they are more than happy to splash a bit on your dry back to let you test it.
It’s also good to catch one more fish than your-son-in-law even though we were not keeping score. Most of his fish, I must admit, were edible. Mine were bottom feeders unfit for skillet, gumbo or grill.
Also of interest: If you catch a blue crab do not grab it by the hindquarters. It will bite you—hard and long. Just sayin’.
Watching Pat’s face light up when she holds our newest grandson, Walker, also ranks high on the special moments list. And watching our daughter Stacey and son-in-law Paul wrangle three boys is inspiring.
I’ve also discovered that Walker, at 8 weeks, may be the only person on the planet who will listen to me sing without either crying or leaving the room. He likes “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” and smiles and kicks his chubby little legs as I sing to him, a ploy I used to get him to stop crying. It worked. He smiled. Or maybe it was just gas. I’m going with smile.