Monstrous Ancestry: Channeling the Better Parts of Our Forebears; Transforming the Worst

This post originally appeared on Patreon on Saturday, February 9th, 2019.

This morning I channeled my bio-sire in my kitchen. Clothed in woolen socks, boxers, and a sweatshirt, I cooked pancakes on the stove and burned them black. (Well, ok, dark brown. I lack a proper griddle.) This was the way he always did them and it is the best way to eat them — the burning brings out flavours that don’t exist in golden pancakes.

I find golden pancakes an abomination; a complete void of flavour needing copious amounts of syrup to make up for their very existence. Why even bother?

Weekend mornings with pancakes and waffles made by dad and served to us kids with butter and Summerland Sweets syrup (or maple) — one of the best memories of my childhood. (From what I can remember.)

But of course, there was a monstrous side to this, as there is with every good thing about my bio-sire. He’d leave the kitchen an absolute, horrendous mess — batter everywhere, bowls out, counter dirty. If he’d made waffles that morning, the waffle maker would be a crusted mountain of batter that he never bothered to wipe off while it was wet.

All this mess was, of course, left to my mother to clean up. Anytime my father cooked, he left a horrendous mess that she had to deal with.

So while I channeled the good part of him, I transformed the bad. I left the bowls to soak as soon as I was done with them, and started the dishwasher before I even began cooking. I wiped up any batter spills on the counters. Soon I’ll go in and wash out the bowls so they’re clean so that when my husband wakes up, I can make him pancakes. Or more likely, waffles, because I don’t know how to make non-burnt pancakes and I don’t think Mr. Morag likes them as blackened as I do.

(His will have sugar in them; mine had Krisda, my monk fruit and erythritol sugar substitute.)

Transforming that aspect of my bio-sire means that when I do channel the good sides — and I will, because I am so like him in so many ways — I don’t have to feel guilty for allowing a monster to reside within. I can have my burnt pancakes and eat them too, because he taught me that those flavours are so much better than bland golden.

He also taught me how not to live with your spouse, and for that I am grateful. His pitfalls are signage on my own path.

The monsters behind me hold lanterns, showing their own paths, showing what I must avoid. I am thankful for their teachings.


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