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JUST A KID AT HEART
On September 11th, the world changed. So did my family. My Uncle Greg was lost in the North Tower. The contentment of our lives was not destroyed, but changed in the most terrible and extreme way. As I stare at a photograph of my vivacious uncle, I can’t help but to drift off to a sweeter time - one of my favorite memories that we shared together.
Sleeping over at my Aunt Ursie’s house was not an irregular thing. I would always stay over the night before my mom had to work. And the following morning, we would always tidy up her house before we ate our breakfast. On this one particular morning, I was well-rested and energetic. But, after straightening up the house, I had worked up quite a hefty appetite, for someone of my stature. So I pranced into her kitchen like I owned the place. And, after all, I did come over quite often, so much so, that this was the regular routine for us that we had developed.
That morning, I wasn’t sure what to have for breakfast - not that I had a vast variety of choices. Let’s see, my options included cereal, toast, or just plain peanut butter. It may seem weird - just plain peanut butter? I used to eat it with nothing, and it was my favorite food. That day was different, though. I couldn’t really make up my mind on what to have.
On my way to the kitchen, as I was contemplating what would satisfy my hunger, I was shocked to see what my twenty-something year old uncle had on his plate in front of him. He looked like a kid, with a plate of slop in front of him. I was even more surprised when he raised his fork to his mouth. Grasped in it’s fangs lie a piece of waffle, which seemed to be coated with peanut butter, with syrup dripping from the sides. I mean, I loved my peanut butter, but this seemed a little too extreme.
I rudely commented: “Ewww..yuck! How can you eat that?!”
He responded playfully, “This is the best!”
“What is it exactly?” I inquired, although I really did know what it was.
“It’s a waffle, you ditz, with peanut butter and syrup. Here try some. See if you like it.”
I stared blankly, perplexed. “Umm...ok!”
Being only four, I was eager to try new things, not yet tainted by fear, and still high on false notions of invincibility. And in this case, my curiosity got the better of me and provoked my nervous taste buds to risk it. The word “apprehensive” cannot even describe the butterflies swarming in my stomach caused by my commitment to his questionable proposal. But then again, how bad could it be? Greg was eating it, willingly. I definitely was not prepared for what happened next. I grasped the soaking specimen on the fork, like a lion claws its prey. I was determined. I could do it. I would do it. But, the closer the sample of peanut-butter engulfed waffle approached my trembling mouth, the more I began to hesitate. Being the feisty and stubborn kid that I was though, I forcefully shoved in my mouth.
Much to my surprise, my gustatory senses gladly absorbed every morsel, embracing each clashing flavor. The texture was definitely the strangest of them all. I was chomping on a chewy Eggo waffle, coated with rich, creamy peanut butter, and to top it all off, it was drenched in Aunt Jemima. It was interesting, yet a little overwhelming. I was somehow amazed at how well the different tastes assimilated so well together.
And then I said the words that would forever shock us both: “Can I have one too?”
I realized then, that trying new, exotic things could really become a good experience. How can you know if you try something or not, if you don’t try it, or at least make an attempt to try it. Come to think of it, I’ve had a peanut butter waffle almost every other day this week, including today. Hah, I actually consider it to be a bad start to the day if I don’t have my waffle.
So, there I sat at the kitchen table with my favorite uncle, together, enjoying our waffles. I don’t know why I ever doubted him. Now that he has passed away, I cherish this bittersweet moment more than ever. Looking back on the events that took place so long ago, I can’t help but smile. That incident had to be one of my favorite moments of all time, and I have also realized that it really is the little things that count. Now, whenever I’m caught up in my hectic schedule, and lost in the morning rush, I still manage to reflect on what happened so long ago, and I can remember him in the best way possible. It’s actually pretty funny, looking back on it now. I guess that is why we connected and related to each other so well.
He was really just a kid at heart.
*** Posted by Anuradha Byagari on 2006-09-11 ***
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In Tribute to
Gregory Reda