At first I’m shy.
I stand close to the door.
I feel like a total goofball.
Why did I ever agree to do this?
Jackson tries to pour
syrup on me.
I run.
I squeal for Dad to protect
my golden brown outside
and yellow-felt butter pat.
A little girl comes up to me.
She tugs at my costume.
“What are you?” she asks.
“I’m a pancake.”
The little girl giggles.
“Hi, Miss Pancake.”
“Hi,” I say, giving her
a tiny wave.
That wasn’t so hard.
I start waving to every little kid.
Then to every grown-up.
I am standing at the curb
waving to traffic.
Honk!
Toot toot!
I am waving both arms.
Honk! Toot-toot!
Honk! Toot-toot!
It’s a kind of music.
Okay—why fight it?
Deep breath … go for it …
a bounce … a twirl …
I’m dancing!
Me!
Honk! Toot-toot!
Honk! Toot-toot!
Cars are slowing down.
Walkers are stopping,
watching, clapping.
And I’m dancing.
I’m a dancing pancake!