Sugar, Eggs, Flour, DNA

My father and I were never close. We were strictly related by containing the same ingredients and being mixed in the same bowl. Some call this batter, but to us gingerpeople, it is DNA. The exact ingredient makeup, measurements, oven temperature, and setting is what differentiates us from gingerbread in Africa. But I digress, my father and I always saw the world differently. He viewed life in a cookie jar as depressing, corrupt, and confining, while I saw our cookie jar as home, a place where we could celebrate our short lifespans by becoming close to one another. I read Vowell's piece to seek insight on what human relationships are like, and much like how Vowell became closer to her dad later in life, I grew much closer to my dad in his last few days with us. We argued so much about the definition of happiness, we discovered that we make ourselves happy by being together. Unfortunately, our happiness didn't last long, we knew his time was coming when a human came home from school hungry. We had to say very quick goodbyes. I was last, and when I hugged him he whispered, "never frost the wrong side of a cookie." I knew that he meant to say be kind, but he but his own cynical twist on it as usual, that made me smirk for what would be the last time. I miss my dad more and more everyday, but he left me one of his crumbs. And one day, I am going to eat that crumb and become the grown gingerbread my dad would have wanted. 

Gingerly, 
Gingy