Gingerbread pancakes

Every year without fail I’ve made gingerbread pancakes for myself on Christmas morning.
This tradition started one year after my grandfather passed away. 

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It was Christmas Day in 2003, it was a warm day because I lived in Bakersfield, California.  I had a couple of roommates that were married Nicole and Danny. They didn’t celebrate Christmas, but they did have a Christmas Day breakfast that was always over the top.  It was always a great ordeal with about fifteen different breakfast items.  That Christmas Day Nicole asked me if I wanted anything in particular for breakfast.  Since it was a celebration, I should have something I wanted.  Then, I told her that I wasn’t sure. “Maybe just pancakes” I said hesitantly.  She glares at me from behind her apron and wooden spoon and says, while trying to push her curls out of her face, “No Julien!  Give me something you really want!”  

So, I sat there in the bar stool for a minute and thought.  

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            About ten minutes passed by and the only thing I could think of was pan dulce.  My favorite was always the maranitos.  I described them to her, and she asks me what was one of the main ingredients in it.  “I think they’re like gingerbread pig cookies. They kind of taste like those gingerbread cookies”.  With her hand on her hip and the other resting on the countertop she smiles and yells, “Well, it’s settled!  You’re getting gingerbread pancakes!”  

            The one thing she told me that will always stick with me is when she said “When you make these, your grandparents will be with you on Christmas.  You talk about them all the time.  So, know that when you have these, they’ll be at the table with you.”  That quickly became my own tradition. My own sort of celebration.  Every year, without fail, I have made those gingerbread pancakes.  Even though I haven’t actually celebrated Christmas since my grandparents passed, I’ve always had my gingerbread pancakes.  

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This year was the first year I hadn’t made those since 2003.  Not because I forgot, or I am forgetting them or I’m tired of doing it.  Or any excuse I can scrape up.  

            This year is the first year, I’ve had someone by my side who has helped me remember what love is. what Christmas is.  What hope is.  Christmas Eve and the days before were filled with things to do with him and his family.  Christmas Day was no exception.  I woke up knowing that I wouldn’t have a chance to stand still. That Christmas Day was going to be adventurous.  I wasn’t still long enough to make pancakes.  A change I welcome and hope to have for all of my years to come. 

            I started my day by talking to my grandparents for a while and asked if they would be ok if I didn’t make my gingerbread pancakes.  I felt like I needed them to say it would be ok.  As if they were answering me, two birds outside my patio window, started chirping.  I went up to my window and there these two little grey finches sat on my patio chair by my window.  I felt that it was them wishing me a Merry Christmas and them saying to me that it was ok for me to start new traditions.