This story is based purely on speculation and rumors, and may not be true…read at your own risk.
One fine morning on one particular January day, two particular girls came down for breakfast and found their Dad at the stove instead of their Mom. They queried on the absence of their mother and more importantly they asked..”Where is breakfast?”
Mr. Obama smiled one of his signature smiles and said one word “Pancakes“. The girls were very happy with that; Mom hardly ever made pancakes and the two girls loved pancakes. Dad always said the right thing.
‘Everything seems so different with Dad doing things but that is what makes them so fun.” He said with one of those smiles again. The girls weren’t totally convinced and argued among themselves.
One of them thought that Dad lacked the experience to make breakfast, let alone pancakes. “Maybe someone else should make them.” The eldest argued. The other sister, the younger one pleaded “Let’s give him a chance, he says he can do it, besides how bad could it be?” He’s got to be better than Uncle George who burned the breakfast and we ended getting Egg McMuffins at Mickey D’s.
So both girls agreed to pancakes ala Dad. He smiled again, informing them that it was pancakes they needed and how good those pancakes would taste to folks like them. After he had talked about the pancakes for 20 minutes or so, one of the girls, the older one asked; “Dad, when are you going to make the breakfast you promised, you keep talking but nothing happens.”
It was then that Mr. Obama reluctantly got out the ingredients for the pancakes. He consulted half a dozen cookbooks, scratched his head and slowly got to work, bragging the whole time, telling the girls how good the pancakes would be.
As he started to mix the ingredients, it was obvious that he didn’t know what he was doing, despite the fact the he kept telling them that he did. He was a mess, he spilled all over the place. He burned the first few batches and the girls couldn’t help but wonder about Dad as their stomachs started to feel the first pangs of hunger.
With every haphazard move he made, it got more and more obvious to both girls. Even his supporter the younger girl started to doubt him. His talk was getting just as cold as the nasty, bumpy, half-baked pancakes he tried to coax the girls into eating.
All the sugary sweet syrup he poured on didn’t help at all. In fact, it only made the pancakes taste worse. The girl’s were depressed and hungry….and they didn’t want to touch the pancakes.
Mr. Obama suddenly became angry, his trademark smile was gone, replaced by a scowl. He told the girls that they should eat their pancakes and be happy about it, and that he knew folks like them were hungry and were hurting, and better pancakes were on the way. But for now they should eat what was given to them.
“I am your Father and I’m telling you girls to eat your breakfast!” he barked.
Finally the girls had to eat the nasty breakfast because time was running out and they were going to be late for school. They hastily ate the pancakes, loaded with all that syrupy rhetoric and ran off to school…
“What can you say?” He’s a nice guy and all, but he doesn’t have a clue on how to make breakfast.” The girls complained at the bus stop. A frosty wind blew out of the east, it was getting cold outside and their stomachs started to ache…..it was going to be one long winter….
Eat up America….Strawberryindigo.