“What are you doing?” Dad asked, between clenched teeth.
“Making breakfast?” nine-year-old Kenny said.
“Do you have a death wish? If your mother sees this mess she’ll go ballistic!”
“It’s not that messy Dad.”
Dad looked around at the ingredients, the bowls and spoons, other cooking things he didn’t even know the names of. Then there were food products all over, flour and milk, jars and canisters, stuff everywhere. “What do you think you’re making?”
“Pancakes, of course. You know you love pancakes.”
“When your mother comes down she’s going to have a conniption!”
“She’s already down. She just went to the store to get blueberries. Blueberry pancakes Dad, you know you love them. She taught me how to make them last week.”
“You cook with your mother?” Dad said incredulously.
“Dad, I’ve been cooking with her for years already. I love to cook, you never come in the kitchen so you just didn’t see me.”
“Does your sister know?”
“Well, she’s never comes in the kitchen either so I don’t know. She definitely hates to cook.”
Just then, sixteen-year-old Sandy did come into the kitchen. “Kenny! What are you doing? Mom’s gonna kill you!”
“Here we go again.”