The Bakery Bonfire

As I stood there watching the bakery burn to the ground, my first thought was, "My God. What am I going to do about Dad's birthday cake?" I suppose the more sensitive, humanitarian response would be to hope that no one was hurt, and that the proprietor had adequate insurance to cover the damages, but the only thing I could think about was the fact that my father, on his one hundredth birthday, would not be able to have his favorite cake from his favorite bakery. And it was the one thing I promised him I wouldn't screw up.

Screwing up was kind of a specialty of mine. I never graduated from college, barely graduated from high school, and was either a spectacular failure or an unremarkably mediocre and just about every job I've ever held down. I tend to forget things people ask me to do and, although I'm usually well intentioned, I have a bad habit of thinking of myself first. My brothers and sisters told me that they would take care of the party; they just couldn't trust me to handle any of the details.

I begged and pleaded with them to give me something to do. It was Dad's one hundredth birthday, and I wanted to do something that would prove to him that I helped make his day extra special. So they gave me the responsibility of picking up the birthday cake from the bakery. Dad had always had a sweet tooth, but was also very particular about those sweets. It had taken him years to find a bakery that made a German chocolate cake just the way he liked it, and had been ordering them there for special occasions ever since. And now, with Dad's party only a few hours away, I was faced with the reality of going back to the house and admitting to my brothers and sisters that I had messed things up. Again.

When I saw the bakery owner, Hans, sitting on the sidewalk with his head in his hands, I knew I had to do something. My family was counting on me.

"Hans?" I asked, approaching him. "I know this is a really bad time right now, but is there any way that the German chocolate cake for my father's birthday made it out of the building in time?"

Hans shook his head in despair.

"Everything's gone," he mumbled, choking back tears.

"Look," I said, expecting as much. "I know this is probably going to sound a little weird, but at this point, there's not a lot you can do here. Do you want to get out of here and get your mind off everything?"

"How?" Hans asked.

"Well, it's my father's one hundredth birthday, and now he needs a cake for the party. His favorite cake was always your German chocolate. Maybe baking something will get your mind off your troubles. I know you love to bake."

"It's true," Hans agreed. "I do love to bake."

I went over to the police officers on the scene with him, and told him where they could reach Hans if they needed anything else from him. Once we were cleared to leave, Hans and I got into my car and headed for the supermarket. He put together a very detailed list of ingredients from memory and we ran through the store as quickly as possible, grabbing everything we needed.

For once I was glad to be living in the same town as my parents. Hans and I were able to use my kitchen so that no one in the family would know what we were up to. They were all at Dad's house preparing for the party.

Hans and I worked diligently for the next two hours, mixing and baking and frosting. It looked like we were going to be a few minutes late for the party, but we were going to have Dad's favorite cake for him after all. For once, I wasn't going to be the son who never made good on his promises. I was going to make good on my responsibilities. And I had fun helping Hans, which was the icing on the cake ... no pun intended.

"Thank you," Hans said as we drove to the party. "It really was a good thing to take some time and bake something. Otherwise I'd still be on the sidewalk drowning in my own misery. You were pretty good, too. A worthy baker's assistant."

Imagine that. I actually did something good for someone else, enjoyed doing something myself, and didn't disappoint anyone by letting them down.

The cake was a screaming success at the party. It was fresh, delicious and, with the exception of everyone wondering why Hans had come to the party, no one had any idea how closely we had come to not having this special cake for Dad's special day. The birthday party was as memorable a celebration as everyone imagined it could be, and to top it all off, I think I might have finally found my calling; something I enjoyed doing and was actually pretty good at. It would take a few months for Hans' bakery to be rebuilt, but I was eager to start and offered him the use of my kitchen in the meantime. It wasn't as large or as grand as his professional kitchen, but it would allow him to do what he loved (and me to learn) sufficiently in the interim.

All in all, it was a great one hundredth birthday for Dad, and a heck of a day for me.


(931 words)