Peanut Brittle Memories   (January 24, 2009 5:26 PM)

I wrote this memory in 1996, 5 years after my dad had passed away....

There I stood, looking at a container of peanut brittle I had made by myself yesterday, remembering Dad. It brought back memories of how I used to help him make it. You could say he taught me how. Yeah, anybody can pick up the Betty Crocker cook book, the same way he did, measure out all the ingredients, and presto, peanut brittle. The difference is, their life probably won’t be impacted later down the road when they stand gazing at a container of it. I know how funny it sounds, but all of us have things in our lives that trigger memories, good and bad, just like peanut brittle.



I’m glad that Dad, not even knowing it, left a lasting impression on my life. He chose to make the peanut brittle instead of buying it. He chose to ask me to help, knowing full well I might reject his plea. I’m glad I didn’t. You know I probably didn’t even do it exactly the way he might have wanted me to. Or he probably could have done it much quicker, but he chose to make the best of even that. Even when he didn’t know it, he took the time to teach me what being a Father was to be like. I thought he just wanted my help with the peanut brittle, but in reality it was much greater than that. Too bad it’s so sticky, or I could put some in my pocket to remind me each time I tell one of my sons they can’t help because I’m in too much of a hurry.

Earlier in the day, before I made the peanut brittle, we made cookies. You know the ones, the cookie cutter type with the creamy butter and powered sugar frosting. I remember thinking how perfect I wanted them to be and that Daniel, my little boy, wouldn’t be able to decorate them correctly. He didn’t give up though, and his decorating ideas were much better than mine, and a whole lot more fun. After all, he was too small to frost the cookies like his big brother David, but it was his best and he was proud to be the one who got to sprinkle, smush and arrange all those decorations on top. David won the prize for the cookie with the most decorations packed on top, he got to eat it of course. Whenever you eat one of those “not-so-perfect” decorated cookies, think of the joy behind it, like my peanut brittle.

You see, I don’t remember every moment of that day or week that I helped Dad with the peanut brittle. I’m sure there were anxious moments, maybe even disciplinary actions taken. I don’t know, I simply remember how it made me feel to be a part, however small, of his life. I didn’t have to ask him if I could, he invited me. Do you think he knew that someday I’d look through tears at a container of peanut brittle and think about a time I spent with him? I doubt it. I think he just liked to spend time with the ones he loved. Sometimes we get so busy we fail to take time to cherish those we love until it is too late. My hope is that I will take the time and create even more good peanut brittle memories than I already have. Maybe we should have just as much fun making peanut brittle as we do eating it. Just think of what we might accidentally teach the little ones, and all the more if we are intentional.