8:00 A.M. Pancakes

The doors have just opened and the pancake police is here, my dad, Stephen Nathan. He orders his pancakes then saunters right into the kitchen, hugs me, kisses my forehead, and tells me how much he wishes he could stay here and work with me today. I laugh, knowing he probably has ten meetings lined up and his own set of problems running a successful television show, but I also know that he really means it. “I wish you could stay, too, Dad,” I say, and then run off to pull out another batch of coffee cake from the oven.