I'm in class early as usual on the morning of the last lecture of our super fast summer school class. Mr. D* is there in his usual seat, and so is the very nice person who sits at a table next to him.
Once I have all the computer stuff set up I notice Mr. D* is scowling at his hand, the one that doesn't work as well since his stroke.
I ask if he can move his fingers and he responds by staring intensely at his stiff hand until BOOM three fingers spring open.
He points with his other hand and says, "Two years of work right there. Two years."
I clap while he beams with pride, then ask if his foot and toes are also affected by the stroke.
He nods and I make a mental note to make sure we get him better shoes. This can't be easy. There is no easy path, but his, right now, is especially steep and there is no reason he should have to walk it alone when we are all here witnessing it.
A few more students enter the room, eyes in their phones, feet pointed exactly to where they always sit.
I ask Mr. D* if he was given the choice, would ever go back to being 21 again.
His face lit up. NO WAY!
Me EITHER! I shot back.
Eight faces behind Mr. D* peek at me with shock, like WHAT? BEING 20 ISN'T AWESOME? YOUTH ISN'T THE BEST THING IN LIFE?
The very nice girl in the front row said something like, seriously? so I explained how it's taken me all this time to learn what I needed to learn to become who I am and Mr. D* heartily agreed, adding that he's gone through too much, and if they all knew what was ahead of them they would want to fast forward to where we are.
I agreed, then he added that he's too interested in what good things are still coming in his life to wish for something different.
After that I go out of the classroom and take care of things in my office until it's time for the lecture that -- if I do it right -- should connect the whole semester together like a drawstring closing a purse.
At the end of class, Mr. D* hands me a few folded pages full of recipes for the Art of Cooking. I fold them and put them into my professor bag and go through the end of the semester and opened them today.
I still don't know what we are going to do with these recipes and this story about homelessness, disability, hope, grief and college, but I don't have to know.
Not yet. That's OK, I like surprise endings.
********************
The Art of Cooking by Mr. D*
I enjoy feeding people and I was robbed of this when I had my stroke.
One of my sons' favorite things was Blueberry Pancakes.
Buttermilk Pancakes;
Sift together dry ingredients
Once I have all the computer stuff set up I notice Mr. D* is scowling at his hand, the one that doesn't work as well since his stroke.
I ask if he can move his fingers and he responds by staring intensely at his stiff hand until BOOM three fingers spring open.
He points with his other hand and says, "Two years of work right there. Two years."
I clap while he beams with pride, then ask if his foot and toes are also affected by the stroke.
He nods and I make a mental note to make sure we get him better shoes. This can't be easy. There is no easy path, but his, right now, is especially steep and there is no reason he should have to walk it alone when we are all here witnessing it.
A few more students enter the room, eyes in their phones, feet pointed exactly to where they always sit.
I ask Mr. D* if he was given the choice, would ever go back to being 21 again.
His face lit up. NO WAY!
Me EITHER! I shot back.
Eight faces behind Mr. D* peek at me with shock, like WHAT? BEING 20 ISN'T AWESOME? YOUTH ISN'T THE BEST THING IN LIFE?
The very nice girl in the front row said something like, seriously? so I explained how it's taken me all this time to learn what I needed to learn to become who I am and Mr. D* heartily agreed, adding that he's gone through too much, and if they all knew what was ahead of them they would want to fast forward to where we are.
I agreed, then he added that he's too interested in what good things are still coming in his life to wish for something different.
After that I go out of the classroom and take care of things in my office until it's time for the lecture that -- if I do it right -- should connect the whole semester together like a drawstring closing a purse.
At the end of class, Mr. D* hands me a few folded pages full of recipes for the Art of Cooking. I fold them and put them into my professor bag and go through the end of the semester and opened them today.
I still don't know what we are going to do with these recipes and this story about homelessness, disability, hope, grief and college, but I don't have to know.
Not yet. That's OK, I like surprise endings.
********************
The Art of Cooking by Mr. D*
I enjoy feeding people and I was robbed of this when I had my stroke.
One of my sons' favorite things was Blueberry Pancakes.
Buttermilk Pancakes;
Sift together dry ingredients
- 1 cup self-rising flour
- 2 teaspoons baking soda
- 1 teaspoon baking powder
- 1.5 cups sugar
Mix wet ingredients
- 1 cup buttermilk
- 3 eggs
- 1/2 cup vegetable oil
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Slowly add dry mix to the wet mix on low speed until it all comes together then let it sit for 15 minutes.
Add blueberries after you put batter on the grill, sprinkling some on the batter.
My sons also liked corn dogs.
(end of page)
