When I was a young boy, you and I would be the first ones up in the house on Saturdays, while Mom and my older sisters slept in. You would often take me in the truck to the town bakery to get fresh donuts on those mornings. We might have even had some donut holes on the drive back home. Then you would make coffee in the kitchen, and give me half a diner mug to dunk my donut in. You probably did all this in an effort to occupy me and keep a quiet house to let your wife and daughters sleep, but then again, why did you let me have caffeine? You may have also done it because you enjoyed little one-on-one moments with your kids and, later, your grandchildren. But letâs be real, you also really loved donuts. I love donuts too. I donât have nearly as big of a sweet tooth as you did, but to this day, nothing hits quite like a glazed, yeast-raised donut. Itâs a simple pleasure. Though I traded in your light-and-sweet coffee for Momâs black to pair it with long ago. This morning, for your birthday, Isla and I shared a donut breakfast, just as we did last fall on the one-year anniversary of your death and on Dia de los Muertos. They werenât nearly as good as the ones we would get at the town bakery back then or at the German donut shop in Louisville in more recent yearsâjust thinking of you eating those apple fritters makes my teeth hurt! Anyway, the donuts werenât nearly as good, but hopefully, with time, the memories Isla and I make will be as sweet as the ones you and I shared. Thinking of you today and every day, Dad. I love you. (at Old Oakland) https://www.instagram.com/p/ChXohxOpac7/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=














