Why My Mother Loved Fruitcake

My mother loved fruitcake. It was almost an obsession with her. She didn’t like just any fruitcake. It had to be dark and with nuts. She would search high and low until she found exactly what she was looking for. The preparations became more and more intense.

Fruitcakes flown in from monasteries, Germany, places I couldn’t pronounce. As mom would open the box she’d practically swoon at the smell and squeal like a rock star had entered the room.

Every year, I’d be subjected to these cakes and I never got it. I’d diligently eat my share then “graciously” tell her to eat the rest. This went on for years, and I didn’t understand any of it until she told me the last cake she had shared with her father before he died was a dark, nutty fruitcake. She was four and they had one plate and two forks and he let her eat all the nuts.

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