Unspoken Love

Every year for my birthday, my Mom would bake me an Angel Food cake. She also made a second one for everyone else. But for my 13th birthday, she was in the hospital, and couldn’t make one that year. So she immediately conscripted my Dad to ‘get it done’. He dutifully went to the Commissary (Air Force version of a grocery store), bought the cake mix, and came home to bake his first-ever cake, of any kind, so I would have an Angel Food cake for my birthday. He proudly served us each a piece while singing Happy Birthday. We visited my Mom later that day and took her a small piece to celebrate. My Mom was so proud of his efforts she grinned from ear-to-ear. Later, I’m not exactly sure when, my Dad confessed to her, that the cake we ate was his third attempt. The first was so lopsided, it wouldn’t come out of the pan in one piece. The second try, nearly caught on fire. Knowing that my Dad baked me a cake for my birthday was special enough. But learning he had done it three times just to get it right, showed me that he would happily struggle through a bit of adversity to fulfill a promise. I miss them both a great deal, but being able to share this memory truly warms my heart. PS. He never baked another cake.