Today after church, I decided to heck with the house and all--I need a real day off! One thing I wanted to do was bake bread. I did that yesterday and found out that the worse thing you can do to bread is substitute ingredients! I didn't have dry milk and used regular milk instead. The result: a highly dense big blob of multi- lumpy matter that hardened in no time and became a part of the trash.
Today before church, I picked up some dry milk. Way back in seventh grade-yes, I am talking about a long long time :) I was taught how to bake bread in Home Economics. Loved that class! Today it is probably not politically correct, too bad because I learned a lot and enjoyed it. Through the years, I loved mixing the ingredients, waiting for the dough to rise and then in the oven. The smell was wonderful! No bread machine like today. Spread it with butter and taste the reward of patience!
My Dad was one who loved my bread (and homemade potato soup,too-another Home Ec lesson). It helped bridge the big gap between us. My way of saying, "See, I do love you even if you push me away." Dad and I were close until I was five. My brother was born and suddenly I was the "Big Sister". My job was to take care of him. I was told that I had five years of love, it was his turn. Okay, so, I waited for five more years, and then....nope, it wasn't my turn, my sister was born.
Strange thing about being a child, adults try to reason with you about things and think that you understand but all the while, children stuff their pain. I became a great one at "stuffing". I do it even today.
Dad was gone a lot--tours of Korea and Vietnam, working 12 hours on base when he was stateside and when he was home, he wasn't really. Dad's love in life was first the Army, mom was second, and us kids third. I was told that over and over. Along with that, Mom would add, "He is a good provider-he brings home money so that we can live and enjoy things." Somehow, as a child, the money wasn't a priority with me. I don't recall the things that were so important to him and mom.
Dad had another love, alcohol. He drank constantly--like I said, he was home but he wasn't. My teen years were constant rebellion and for that rebellion, I was beaten with a belt. The scars are gone but the memories remain. I wanted my Dad's love and the only way to get his attention was rebellion. Often he would just hit me for minor things. I recall accidentally knocking off a teacup from a table and experiencing the wrath.
But the bread--I learned how to bake bread. That weekend after learning, I baked bread. I lost myself in the process--the kneading helped me cope. Bringing out the warm bread from the oven, the aroma drifted to where Dad was in the living room. I remember him coming into the kitchen after he thought I'd left (I was watching from the hall). He sliced a piece and put some butter on it and tasted it. Ahhh, and then... the smile that came on his face! I finally pleased my dad.
Years came and went. Every time I can home from college or wherever, Dad would ask, "Can you please bake some bread?" I always did. I have forgiven my Dad for all those times when his anger got the better of him. I did love him. He did show me more love in the last two weeks of his life than he did in a lifetime. It was during that time he accepted Jesus. Alison at ten led him. He went to live with Jesus a week after.
Dad couldn't talk with the tube in his mouth in the hospital when we visited him 26 years ago but I know if he could he'd ask once again--"Can you bake some bread?"
:)
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