Fudge

Mary Ann

Timmy stories are part of our family culture.  There is always a lesson in them, and our family grew from the experiences.  However, I am beginning to think that our mother left us alone way too much. She was a strict yet loving mother, and we knew the guidelines.  When she was away, that is when the action happened.  Let me share a Timmy story of one such occasion.

My brother Timmy loved to cook.  However, you could only cook when our mother was home.  That was the family rule, but one Saturday in the summer, Timmy decided to break the rule and make some fudge.  Full disclosure, I was not an accomplice in this venture.  I was reading somewhere in the house while the caper unfolded.

I heard the banging of pans and smelled the chocolate brewing into fudge, and then there was a burnt sugar smell.  After that, there were no sounds in the house, so I went on reading.  Upstairs in the kitchen, Timmy was panicked as the fudge morphed into a burnt blob of sugar, and it would not come off the pan. He thought the fudge was stuck forever!

This was mother’s favorite pan to use when she was cooking, and it would be missed at the next meal prep. Timmy used typical kid logic and needed to hide the evidence.  We had a big field across the road in the front of our house.  He took the pan outside in the front yard and heaved it into the field across the street.  The pan landed in high grass.  No one would know what happened.  He knew he would be in double trouble for unauthorized cooking and destroying our mother’s favorite pan.  He was not free from worry as a cloud of doom formed over his head.

For the next few weeks our mother ranted about the missing pan blaming our father for using it to feed the dogs.  Our father knew better.  I could honestly say I had no idea where it was.  Timmy would deny any knowledge of the pan.  However, he began having trouble sleeping.  He was sick at his stomach.  He couldn’t eat.  It got so bad that he finally confessed one night after he said his prayers.

So, our mother got a flashlight, and Timmy and she went into the field in search of the pan.  It was right where he said he threw it, but there was a surprise!  The pan was clean as a whistle.  I think Timmy learned the power of prayer.  Apparently, the ants had a picnic and feasted on the burnt fudge.  

There is a quote by Lafcadia Hearn about ants – All good work is done the way ants do things: Little by Little.  And boy, did the ants do exactly that.  I don’t remember Timmy getting into trouble.  He had punished himself far more than my parents would have punished him.  I do know our mother was happy to have her pan back.  Timmy’s shoulders were much lighter, and we all learned that burnt pans can be cleaned by ants if all else fails. Tuck that cleaning hack away for another day!