74: Morning Donuts

74: Morning Donuts

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Amazing Mom

Morning Donuts

Happy is the son whose faith in his mother remains unchallenged.

~Louisa May Alcott

When I was little, my mom always went to the store on Saturday mornings. My sisters and I would wake up to find five little plates of powdered donuts, one for each of us.

One Saturday morning, I woke up earlier than the rest of the children. Being the selfish, chubby, little man that I was, I quickly finished my plate and wanted more. My mom told me that I could have the others as long as I finished them all and destroyed the evidence; it would be our secret. So that morning, while the other children slept, I got to spend all morning with the entirety of the donuts—and the entirety of my mom’s attention.

I am not exaggerating when I say that I woke myself up early every Saturday from age seven to twelve, eating all the donuts I wanted and getting time with my mom all to myself. We ate donuts, watched cartoons, played games, and read books—just the two of us.

When I was twenty-seven, I mentioned this to my sisters in passing, sure that my mom had told them at some point in later years. Well into their thirties, they were furious; they had always wondered what happened to all those donuts and why I was always up so early. My mom had never made a peep.

The donuts were tasty, but they were honestly just an excuse. I woke up early not because, as the youngest of five, I didn’t have to share donuts. I did it because, for a little while, I didn’t have to share my mom.

~James Kinneen

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