ADKISSON ADVENTURE

OF ALL THE THINGS I USED TO DO WITH MY MOTHER whenever she came to visit us in Marshall, Texas, my all-time favorite was when we’d both slip off to the local fabric stores for a few hours.

My mom had a knack for making clothes and I think she could have easily become a fashion designer if she really wanted to pursue that career. She was often called upon to make outfits for people she knew – everyone from family and friends to her fellow teachers and her fellow military wives, stateside as well as abroad. She got her talent from her mother and my mother passed it down to me.

Our shared passion led to many fun trips to fabric stores such as Hancock Fabrics, where we would get lost in time as we blissfully flipped through giant Vogue and Butterick pattern books, dreaming up fanciful runway projects and fashions. It was a way to keep our bond strong, despite the fact that my grandparents had taken me in and adopted me to spare my mother – a schoolteacher – from the difficulties that would arise, during those days, from having a child outside of marriage.

A Seamstress's Paradise

None of that mattered as we would roam the aisles rummaging through colorful bolts of fabric and a dizzying array of buttons, snaps and trim. We found ourselves drawn to bargain tables filled with jumbled remnants of cloth. If there were such a thing as a seamstress’s paradise, this was it.

One of the most memorable of these fabric store excursions took place in 1972. On the way home from the fabric store, while driving along Pinecrest Drive and nearing the end of our time together, my mother caught a glimpse of a sign to what for her was a familiar place.

“Adkisson Donut Shop,” the sign stated. “Made Fresh Daily!”

“I haven’t been there in years,” my mother said.

I myself had never been there, even though I had passed that small, nondescript storefront countless times.

“Oh, they have the best donuts!” my mother whispered, as if she were letting me in on a big secret.

As soon as we stepped inside the shop, we were greeted by the beautiful, sugar-wrapped aroma of yeast, flour and bubbling canola oil that owned the air. Trays lined with light puffy wheels of plain or glazed, lemon and chocolate-infused delicacies filled the display cases. There were donut holes, cinnamon apple fritters and an array of donuts in varying degrees of completion, some rising, some lightly cooking in the fryers and floating to the top, others draining and waiting to be iced or filled. I found myself fascinated by the complexities of constructing the delicate confection.

My mother bought a dozen donuts and holes for us to take home for breakfast the next day. Well, some of those treats didn’t make the trip. Once we got back in the car, my mother immediately dug into the plain white packaging and pulled out one of the delicious pastries.

“Oh, these are good,” she sang as we shared one of the freshly, glazed donuts. She could see from the look on my face that I – now a willing coconspirator in her donut indulgence – certainly agreed.

Secret Sweet Spot

The experience proved to be one of the most delightful of my childhood. But was it truly delightful? Or did I think it so because it involved my mother sharing this one thing with me that she enjoyed so much, her secret sweet spot? Whatever the reason, I got caught up. Did my sugar addiction begin here? Or did this experience just fuel it? Years later I discovered I was addicted to sugar. More significantly, I was emotionally addicted to the memory of this very sweet moment with my mother.

This “Adkisson Adventure,” if you will, would linger in my spirit long after my mother packed up my brothers and sister and returned to her home in Wichita Falls. So, to recapture the moment, whenever I would get my allowance or have extra money, I would walk or ride my bike two miles to that donut shop just to relive that experience.

Looking back on that time, I believe one of the reasons the grown woman me would often eat a dozen donuts was not that I didn’t have self-control, discipline or willpower to overcome my sugar addiction. But rather, I was craving for that pleasurable memory of being with my mother.

The memory remains fresh – just like the donuts advertised by Adkisson. It may have led me to devour more donuts than anyone ever should. I have no regrets though, because those Adkisson donuts were something my mother shared with me because she loved me and wanted nothing more than to see me happy.