I.amN.otD.eadY.et children so listen up!

There was nothing outstanding about the birth of a child in the 1950s. It was the tail end of the baby boomer generation. It was a Good Friday though. In itself, Good Friday was not a good day for birthing or Jesus. However, in the context of the whole story, it was a good day for Christians. My birth on a Good Friday, March 30, 1956 … well that story’s finale remains to be seen.

Maybe I should ask my mother about that day while she is still able to convey to me details however small and insignificant. It was so long ago in a Fargo hospital that my birth certificate, a simple piece of paper black with white type, doesn’t work when applying for a job or a passport.

My birthday, of course, does not always fall on Good Friday. Sometimes it is Easter; sometimes Palm Sunday; sometimes just another day.

Dad always says that about his birthday, “It’s just another day.” That may be so, but if you think about all the other days that came after that day – four siblings, two children, three grandchildren, two nieces and three nephews … I don’t know that seems significant, doesn’t it?

I read somewhere that children’s memories begin about age three or so. My very very very first memory was Sunday School. We didn’t have a whole lot of paper, crayons, pencils and other good stuff to use for art and that may be why this sticks out as my first memory.

Someone, it could have been my mother or a Sunday School teacher, told me that I should have colored my sun yellow and not orange. It didn’t make sense to me that my sun couldn’t be yellow. It was precursor to my sometimes contrarian view of things. In the years following, I have witnessed many suns of many colors. Splendid sunrises and sunsets caught on digital film. But let’s save that for another time.

Secondly, my memories are all about food. We never seemed to have an abundance of it, but grew up just the same. Saturday mornings were spent in the kitchen with Mom and Gladys watching them turn flour, sugar and water into splendid German pastries.

I attribute those experiences to my current baking expertise. Delving into those recipes and memories will be the substance of my story.