I remember being tiny and incapable of seeing over
the door into the window's bright patch of sunlight in the white truck.
I remember my Daddy helping me out when we'd arrived, so I wouldn't fall.
I held his hand as we walked into the sunlit pastry shop.
He bought me prussians and brownies and told me the other names prussians have.
Butterfly Cookies. Palmiers.
All three names sounded pretty in my mouth when I said them.
On the way home he played some reggae and sang along. I laughed. He was in a good mood.
And I loved it.
Just a block from our house another driver didn't realize my Daddy had the right away and hit the truck.
I remember seeing his face scrunch up with rage and I worried his good mood had gone sour for the rest of the day.
Then a sudden fear filled my four year old mind- 'What if the Prussians were hurt?'
I reached down to the bag and inspected each one,
then, looking up at my dad, I said, in an entirely serious tone,
"Daddy, the prussians are okay!"
He looked down at me and laughed and I knew that despite the slight chaos, I'd brought his good mood back again.
And I remember feeling proud.