So, I come home from work today, and my son bounces up to me and says, “Guess what, Dad? I’m making pizza!”
Now to understand my reaction of fear mixed with intrigue you have to understand two facts. One: The last time my son and his friends attempted to make pizza, they didn’t use a recipe, because one of them “already knew how”. Even though they promised Jodi they would clean up after themselves, the kitchen was left like a tomato hurricane had blown through. As proud of their pizzas as they were, they ended up looking like cheesy hockey pucks. The taste wasn’t too far off of that, either.
Two: The teacher of his fifth grade class had made an assignment where they have to read a book with some sort of instructions, do the thing it instructs, and then teach it to the class. Brendon chose a cookbook, and making pizza as his thing.
So, with all that in mind, I walked toward the kitchen, very afraid of what I would find. I was shocked. The kitchen was a mess, true, but then it was when I left for work this morning, too. The part that he’d been using was relatively clean, and cluttered only by the few tools I could tell he had used. There was a mixing bowl full of dough, quietly rising. I looked close. It looked like pizza dough, quietly rising. It suddenly dawned on me that he was actually making pizza!
So, while he was telling me the story of how he’d done it, and how he’d had troubles finding the yeast, and some of the spices for the sauce (which he also made from scratch), I started looking through the fridge for toppings. I found some pepperoni and salami, and some shredded cheddar and jack cheese mix.
So, I looked over his shoulder while he spread the dough, then the sauce. Then the cheese and toppings. Finally, more cheese. It looked great. He put it in the oven, and set the timer.
And what a taste feast we all had when he pulled it out! I’m still in awe. He found a recipe on his own, started to make it, sought help only when he needed it, and finished it. And it tasted GREAT! Wow. I am amazed!