It is rare in my world to find someone who does not like a doughnut. This may be because I live in the south…this may be because doughnuts are just awesome. Or they used to be, anyway. I’m tired of them now – tired of what they have stood for in my life and tired of what they produce. Doughnuts are the soft, sweet harbingers of emptiness. They weren’t always so, though…at least not that I saw.
When I was little, our broke dysfunctional family celebrated and comforted with cheap food. Krispy Kreme doughnuts were an exciting addition to a Saturday morning – a morning in which we pretended to be a connected family filled with promise for the new day. My mother was too fearful to try new things and too selfish to do so for the sake of the rest of us. Who knew what would happen if we were to try camping or bike riding or hiking or any other of the myriad things that American families do together. Doughnuts, old school country music, and open screen doors were controllable and knowable. They became a sign of a good morning together.
When my dad had some time off from one of his three jobs late one night he woke me up & took me out for a special date – just the two of us (something I’m sure he paid for later when my mother had time to think about it). We went to Krispy Kreme. Again, doughnuts were a symbol. They were cozy. Celebratory. Familial. To this day that evening remains one of my sweetest childhood memories. After eating doughnuts at the counter, we went swimming at our apartment complex pool. It was a great time with my daddy. Anchored with sugary-fried goodness.
As an adult, I have struggled with a variety of things – some known some not. Several times, my sweet dad has heard a struggle in my voice, and shown up on my doorstep with a dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts. One dozen reminders of love and comfort. One dozen chances to spike my blood sugar levels and feel better…for a moment.
Fast forward to today. I’m in my late thirties and way too fat (a variety of reasons contributed to this phenomenon, doughnuts certainly a part of the story). I’ve been weaning off of sugar and wheat. I realized recently that I don’t feel good when I eat that stuff. Hello. 40 is around the corner & I’m just beginning to learn to pay attention. I don’t feel good & I’m tired of it. After a stressful few weeks, my hubby gave me a day to do whatever the heck I want today while he takes care of our daughter and dog. I wanted solitude & time to write. As I headed out the door a neighbor showed up carrying a box of doughnuts. Once again, doughnuts showed up on my door – wafting their promise of cozy care. I didn’t believe it, though. I glanced at the doughnuts and went on my merry way – determined to find my peace, well being, and sense of purpose in something more firmly grounded than fried dough. I’m sharing me instead of burying me.
Pitch That Tent 