My grandfather lives on a farm just outside of Comanche, Texas. He is the most stubborn and hard working man I have ever met. However, that isn’t what I will remember when I am old and gray. I will remember waking up to the smell of cooking grease and the sounds of squeaks coming from the kitchen at 6:00 am sharp; I will remember the eggs.
I believe in granddad eggs.
Granddad eggs are a kind of specialty that is on the menu everyday prepared of course by my grandfather. The eggs are always fried and extra “runny.” No two eggs are exactly alike but they are all similar, not unlike all of us. It is not mandatory to eat granddad eggs with toast but almost necessary to catch all the “runny” parts. It is also not surprising to notice a fellow breakfaster licking the remnants of their plate; no one ever laughs, we all have a universal understanding.
Breakfast is an essential part of daily farm life it fuels your entire day and determines your mood. We call it “go power.” My younger brother, I can hardly call him little anymore, claims that the more eggs you eat the longer you can work. I always argue that the more you eat the slower you move. Breakfast on the farm is the first gathering of our family each day. It’s a time of stories we’ve all heard at least a hundred times but still laugh at as if it were the first time we had heard then. It is a celebration of a full days work ahead. Breakfast is about genuine happiness and simplicity.
At the end of the day I close my eyes and think of just one thing. My aching back, the dirt under my fingernails, and the sticker burrs in my socks don’t ever seem to bother me. My mind is elsewhere. Before you know it my taste buds are being flooded again with those unmistakable smells from the kitchen and I know that today is another day worth living; another breakfast with granddad eggs.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.