When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight.
Luke 24:30-31
Who could ever forget the Pillsbury Doughboy - the cute, chubby, pasty white mascot for Pillsbury? I loved that little guy. I couldn’t wait to see commercials come on where he popped from the can of biscuit dough. His adorable laugh made me laugh and giggle with delight every time I saw him. And, Granny killed him!!!
When I was only 3 or 4 the division between the real world and the imagined world was not very clearly defined. I lived in a world that if it was on TV then it must be real, and alive. In my world at that time were my friends Mr. Rogers, Captain Kangaroo, Ronald McDonald, and Bozo the Clown. I was convinced that somewhere in the phonebook (if I could read) that Bozo the Clown would be listed. One of my absolute favorites though was the Pillsbury Doughboy. I longed to be able to meet him someday and poke his little tummy.
As the commercial went, a lady on TV would be preparing a meal for her family; this was, of course, because men were incapable of performing such a task. During the course of the preparation, she would take out a can of Pillsbury biscuits, proudly display them so the entire world could see, and pop them on the countertop to open them. Then a little magic would occur with the satisfying pop of the can; the Pillsbury Doughboy would miraculously appear from the opening in the can. This I knew to be fact, since it was on TV.
I tried and I tried to get my mom to get some Pillsbury biscuits. I really wanted to see that little guy pop out. However, Mom, for some reason, always made her own biscuits. To me this was completely illogical. How on earth were you supposed to see the little white pasty guy if you didn’t buy the biscuits? Besides, they were supposed to be just about the best biscuits in the world. However, Mom persisted in making her own. It is almost as if my rationale did not carry any weight with her, but that certainly could not have been the case.
Visiting Granny was a special treat for my sister and me. Granny always had special games and treats for us. We would always make or do something fun, and we were treated like we were the only kids in the world. We lived quite some distance from Granny, at that time, so we didn’t get to see her very often, but it was so nice when we did.
On one trip to Granny’s she was making us dinner when we arrived. Granny had a special table for my sister and I that was just the right height. It was a small, red, folding card table that could not have been more than two feet high, complete with matching folding metal chairs. My sister, Karen, and I would enjoy sitting at that table since we did not have to sit on the Sears & Roebuck catalog when we sat there in order to reach our food. Part of the preparation for dinner was biscuits, and Granny had the Pillsbury can of biscuits. I could hardly wait. I darted around the kitchen with baited anticipation. I just knew that finally I was going to get to see the Pillsbury Doughboy, and poke his chubby little tummy. I could already hear his infectious laugh.
Finally, Granny raised the tube of biscuits to strike it on the counter. I watched with eyes as large as silver dollars as the can struck the edge of the counter. I heard a satisfying pop, and saw the can part to reveal the already prepared biscuits inside the can. Then, to my amazement, Granny simply twisted the can further open and began to peel the raw biscuit dough from the can and put it on a cooking sheet. Nothing! Absolutely nothing else happened! There was No doughboy, No laughter, No giggling; Nothing!
Could I have missed him when he jumped out? After all, he did seem to be pretty quick. I didn’t even hear him giggle. Granny did strike the counter pretty hard. She must have struck the counter harder than she should have and … and … she killed him! I was devastated. Granny killed the Pillsbury Doughboy!!
I was visibly shaken. I sobbed openly, and quite audibly. My Granny had just killed the little guy. I wasn’t able to poke his little belly. I couldn’t play with him. This was a tragedy of epic proportion.
Granny and my mom both recognized that I did not take this very well. Granny bent down and took me in her arms. She held me close and told me that it would all be ok, and tried as best she could to explain that the Pillsbury Doughboy was only on TV. That part she wasn’t going to convince me of, because I knew the TV was real. They both assured me that Granny had not killed the Pillsbury Doughboy, and that everything was going to be ok; I just wasn’t buying it.
For years, this event became a defining point in my life. I was forever and always connected now with the Pillsbury Doughboy. Even my giggle somehow seems to mimic his. My wife now believes that I am the doughboy incarnate. It is difficult now for a birthday, Christmas, or even anniversary to go by without someone giving me a Pillsbury Doughboy shirt, tie, doll, or other trademark item. And, I love it. He still makes me laugh, and he still makes me cry. His chubby little face will always be identified for me with my Granny, her love for me, and the day she killed him.
Luke 24:30-31
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Supper at Emmaus 1602 - by Caravaggio |
Who could ever forget the Pillsbury Doughboy - the cute, chubby, pasty white mascot for Pillsbury? I loved that little guy. I couldn’t wait to see commercials come on where he popped from the can of biscuit dough. His adorable laugh made me laugh and giggle with delight every time I saw him. And, Granny killed him!!!
When I was only 3 or 4 the division between the real world and the imagined world was not very clearly defined. I lived in a world that if it was on TV then it must be real, and alive. In my world at that time were my friends Mr. Rogers, Captain Kangaroo, Ronald McDonald, and Bozo the Clown. I was convinced that somewhere in the phonebook (if I could read) that Bozo the Clown would be listed. One of my absolute favorites though was the Pillsbury Doughboy. I longed to be able to meet him someday and poke his little tummy.
As the commercial went, a lady on TV would be preparing a meal for her family; this was, of course, because men were incapable of performing such a task. During the course of the preparation, she would take out a can of Pillsbury biscuits, proudly display them so the entire world could see, and pop them on the countertop to open them. Then a little magic would occur with the satisfying pop of the can; the Pillsbury Doughboy would miraculously appear from the opening in the can. This I knew to be fact, since it was on TV.
I tried and I tried to get my mom to get some Pillsbury biscuits. I really wanted to see that little guy pop out. However, Mom, for some reason, always made her own biscuits. To me this was completely illogical. How on earth were you supposed to see the little white pasty guy if you didn’t buy the biscuits? Besides, they were supposed to be just about the best biscuits in the world. However, Mom persisted in making her own. It is almost as if my rationale did not carry any weight with her, but that certainly could not have been the case.
Visiting Granny was a special treat for my sister and me. Granny always had special games and treats for us. We would always make or do something fun, and we were treated like we were the only kids in the world. We lived quite some distance from Granny, at that time, so we didn’t get to see her very often, but it was so nice when we did.
On one trip to Granny’s she was making us dinner when we arrived. Granny had a special table for my sister and I that was just the right height. It was a small, red, folding card table that could not have been more than two feet high, complete with matching folding metal chairs. My sister, Karen, and I would enjoy sitting at that table since we did not have to sit on the Sears & Roebuck catalog when we sat there in order to reach our food. Part of the preparation for dinner was biscuits, and Granny had the Pillsbury can of biscuits. I could hardly wait. I darted around the kitchen with baited anticipation. I just knew that finally I was going to get to see the Pillsbury Doughboy, and poke his chubby little tummy. I could already hear his infectious laugh.
Finally, Granny raised the tube of biscuits to strike it on the counter. I watched with eyes as large as silver dollars as the can struck the edge of the counter. I heard a satisfying pop, and saw the can part to reveal the already prepared biscuits inside the can. Then, to my amazement, Granny simply twisted the can further open and began to peel the raw biscuit dough from the can and put it on a cooking sheet. Nothing! Absolutely nothing else happened! There was No doughboy, No laughter, No giggling; Nothing!
Could I have missed him when he jumped out? After all, he did seem to be pretty quick. I didn’t even hear him giggle. Granny did strike the counter pretty hard. She must have struck the counter harder than she should have and … and … she killed him! I was devastated. Granny killed the Pillsbury Doughboy!!
I was visibly shaken. I sobbed openly, and quite audibly. My Granny had just killed the little guy. I wasn’t able to poke his little belly. I couldn’t play with him. This was a tragedy of epic proportion.
Granny and my mom both recognized that I did not take this very well. Granny bent down and took me in her arms. She held me close and told me that it would all be ok, and tried as best she could to explain that the Pillsbury Doughboy was only on TV. That part she wasn’t going to convince me of, because I knew the TV was real. They both assured me that Granny had not killed the Pillsbury Doughboy, and that everything was going to be ok; I just wasn’t buying it.
For years, this event became a defining point in my life. I was forever and always connected now with the Pillsbury Doughboy. Even my giggle somehow seems to mimic his. My wife now believes that I am the doughboy incarnate. It is difficult now for a birthday, Christmas, or even anniversary to go by without someone giving me a Pillsbury Doughboy shirt, tie, doll, or other trademark item. And, I love it. He still makes me laugh, and he still makes me cry. His chubby little face will always be identified for me with my Granny, her love for me, and the day she killed him.
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