My Cookie Journey

What was the first cookie you ever baked?

The first cookie I ever baked was the classic chocolate chip cookie from the back of the Toll House chocolate chip bag. I was 14. My mother sometimes took me to the Lincoln Dell for pastries that reminded her of Germany, but there was nothing quite like biting into warm chocolate chip cookies out of our own oven. And always — always — accompanied with a cold glass of milk. That was the start of my cookie journey.

We’d just moved to the city, into a small apartment building. The lady across the hall was a single mother with two little boys, both under three. She worked late nights downtown and often didn’t get home until after 2 a.m. One day she asked if I would babysit. Always eager to earn a little pocket money, I said yes.

When I arrived at 5 p.m., I could see immediately that life was heavier than she could carry alone. The boys were darting everywhere, dishes were stacked in the sink, toys scattered like confetti across the floor. While she was working so many hours, keeping up at home understandably fell behind.

After she left, I played with the boys, got them washed up, tucked them into bed. Then I cleaned the kitchen, scrubbed the counters, swept the floors, gathered the toys. When she came home, she insisted on paying me far more than the usual fifty cents an hour. The next time I babysat, I brought her a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies. Her smile lit up the room.

And that’s when I learned something that shaped my whole life: Giving away homemade cookies creates a quiet, meaningful bond between giver and receiver. It’s a small act, but it carries warmth. It says, I see you. I care. Here’s a little comfort.

Cookies were connection. Cookies were kindness.

And I’ve been baking — and sharing — ever since.

I want to see smiles light up a room.