Everybody Loves Pumpkin Pie

“Hey, Dad, I have an idea.” Ian put down his tablet, looking more animated than usual.

“Yeah?” On the day before Thanksgiving, I rested after doing some prep work. Almost everything was ready. All I needed to do was bake dessert.

“Why don’t you let me bake the pumpy-kin pies?”

“When have you baked pumpkin pie?” I gave him an appraising glance. “When have you baked anything?”

“Aw, Dad, you know it’s easy. If you can bake a pie, I can.”

My recliner never felt more comfortable. “You have a lot of confidence in yourself.”

“I’ve got this, Dad. Simple. Besides, Mom says you work too hard. Let me give you a break.”

I’ve heeded too many siren songs throughout my life and should have known better, but this sounded so good. “Okay, Bub, use the pie shells in the freezer. But if you don’t have the pies ready by the time I get up … ”

The day passed, but Ian never baked. Every time I asked about it, he smiled at me. “Told you I got it.”

He wakes early, though, usually around 5:00. I went to sleep thinking of his words. “I got this, Dad.”

The next morning, I expected a furious round of baking to start the day, but a pleasant surprise awaited me when I came downstairs. The aroma of freshly-baked pumpkin in the kitchen and two pies on the cooling rack.

“Great job, Ian.”

He beamed at me. “I told you I had this.”

While preparing the feast, I opened the freezer for something and stopped short. The frozen pie shells were still there. On a hunch, I poked through the bin. Two collapsed frozen pumpkin pie boxes, slid down along the side where they wouldn’t be noticed. No wonder he’d been so nonchalant. The skunk.

William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.