Walking down the streets of Chimaltenango, Guatemala it is possible to pass about 10 pastry shops in under 5 minutes. Lately though, all I’ve been wanting is some Cool Ranch Doritos and Dr. Pepper which, unfortunately are nowhere to be found in Central America. But, this past Sunday, I walked past a pastry shop and all I really wanted was the donut that looked very, very similar to a chocolate long john.
When I realized why, I was flooded with a wave of emotions and was left feeling very sad. Every single Sunday and still to this day, my dad, goes to the grocery store before we all wake up and brings home donuts for whoever is home. My pick of choice? Chocolate long john. I remember riding in the car to church, donut in one hand orange juice in the other. And when we got back from church I had another chocolate long john sitting on the counter in the white box waiting for me.
My Sunday donuts have become one my favorite childhood memories and traditions. They were one of the many things I looked forward to on weekends and summer breaks home from college. And it couldn’t be just any chocolate long john, it had to be a chocolate long john from the Schnucks bakery and it was almost always right next to my mom’s white long john in the box.
Who knew a donut could have such an impact on my childhood memories?? Even though seeing that donut in the pastry store at first made me sad, I was left feeling thankful. I think those Sunday donuts kind of became a symbol in our household that everything was going to be okay. No matter what the state was of my parent’s relationship, the state of the parent child relationships, or even our financial state, donuts were always on the counter when I woke up on Sunday mornings.
So, thank you, Dad. Thank you for giving me that memory and never wavering in your buying of Sunday morning donuts. But, dangit, Dad. Dangit for making me sad in the middle of the street with no possible way to recreate Sunday morning donuts!
Dangit, Dad. Love ya, Dad,
Hannah
