Fathers Day is celebrated in Honduras on March 19th. I wrote the following in my journal 18 years ago this month. I thought I'd share it.
March 20, 1993
La Ceiba, Honduras
Fawn and two of her friends from school planned and prepared a Father's Day dinner for their dads. All three girls were in our kitchen by 8:00 this morning with the menu in hand ready to start baking. One of their grandmas was making pizza, but the rest was up to them.
I distinctly got the impression that Fawn had put herself in charge. She enjoys dessert and had six listed, cut down from an original ten: cake, cupcakes, no bake cookies, brownies, caramel popcorn and sponge candy. Tooth decay, here we come!
"Fawn," I tactfully approached her. "There are only going to be three fathers here. You're having pizza and salad. I really think we can cut down on the desserts, don't you?"
I could see by the glare she gave me that she wasn't happy with my interference, but with help from the other two, I was able to talk her down to three desserts.
She had decided on a white cake, meaning that eggs would have to be separated. "Mom!" This was not going to be one of my more relaxing Saturday mornings. I stepped into the kitchen. "We can't get these eggs to work." She pointed at the bowl accusingly.
She was right. Too murky. "Nope. This won't work. You'll end up with a yellow cake, " I told her.
At that she picked up the mixture and dumped it down the sink!
"What are you doing?! Those eggs could have been used for the brownies!"
She looked a bit uncomfortable. "Oh yeah."
Oh yeah? Is that all she has to say? She's not the one buying the eggs going down the sink.
An hour later she came looking for me again. "Mom, would you come look at the brownies. They're weird. We tried putting them in the pan, but they won't spread."
She was right. They were weird, and they didn't spread in the pan.
"Fawn, I went over the whole recipe with you." And then I went over it again. We never did quite figure out what they had done wrong, but we ended up adding another cup of sugar and a bit more flour. It still looked weird.
The kitchen was an absolute disaster. Maria, who generally gives it a good cleaning on Saturdays, just grinned and said she thought it best to wait until another day. I agreed.
I think the brownies did them in. All three agreed that perhaps two desserts were plenty after all. I was beginning to relax again.
The card table, three chairs from the dining room table and a child cabinet from the toy room were dragged out and set up underneath a coconut palm in the backyard. Then they simply waited. For three hours.
Larry did not know the two Hondurans who sat down at the table with him under the palm that afternoon. But I don't suppose it really mattered. The girls had pulled it off. Three 10-year- olds had actually prepared a banquet for the most important men in their lives. They served them and catered to their every need, from the ice in their cups to the delicious desserts (yes delicious!) that topped it all off. I was proud of them.
Unfortunately, the day ended on a bit of a negative note. Just after her friends left for home, Fawn dropped a pop bottle and put a deep gash into her leg. A couple of hours later she was home with five stitches. So guess who got to wash the dishes? Dad!