Don’t Worry; It Gets Batter

(I am about five years old, my brother around eight. It is a weekend. We have woken up before our parents and want to be up before they do. We also want pancakes. We’ve been sticking our heads out our door and calling down the hall to ask them if they’re going to get up. I can’t remember the first part of the conversation went, but I remember this part clearly.)

Brother: “Could you make us pancakes?”

Dad: “Maybe later.”

Me: “Do you mind if I make pancakes?”

Dad: “No.”

(I turn away from the door and start to pout.)

Brother: “What are you sad about?”

Me: “He said no!”

Brother: “But that means yes!”

(He then explains how “do you mind” and “no” mean “I don’t mind.”)

Me: “But… I don’t know how to make pancakes!”

(Somehow I had conveniently forgotten that fact when I asked if I could make them myself. To the best of my memory, that morning ended with me on a stool beside my mom trying to make “the biggest pancake ever” and asking her to make the batter fill the entire pan.)