My dad went back in the hospital on this day, back in February. We didn't know he would pass in 4 days. I don't know what's worse, knowing it now or not knowing what will come, then.
But people live an entire life in our minds whether they are here still with us, or after they've moved on. With him on the brain, I recalled one year and for a period of time, straight out of the blue, my dad began making breakfast for my sister and I before grade school back in Fort Wayne. My mother, worked nights at Wayne Candies and I guess they agreed on this strange arrangement.
I remember coming downstairs, groggy, after dressing quickly without my mom's guidance which lead to some bad clothes choices and sometimes dirty socks. The house still cold and dark, then the bright florescent overhead light and sounds of the transistor radio on the kitchen counter playing songs like
This Magic Moment and
Wedding Bell Blues louder than I was prepared to hear. And my dad, smiling and more upbeat and happier than I was prepared to see. I can imagine his big teeth and red face greeting me, asking how I wanted my eggs, like I was a real person. Before this, he treated me like some random goofy kid that had no say in these matters. I hated early mornings, being woken up period, ever. I despised going to school, so my mood was less than stellar. But I quickly learned, one must stay positive when attending dad's big breakfasts. And grateful. What I really wanted was warm Cream of Wheat and my mother but it turned out bacon, eggs, and toast was actually pretty special. Sitting in the high back wooden chairs at the little table across from my sister in a smoky kitchen thick with the smell of bacon and again, the pop sounds of the late sixties blaring was so different that it spun my little morning world. I realized that year that my dad had a completely other side, I'd never seen. Everyone was moody in my house, me being no exception but dad taking care of household things, looking semi-happy to see us, was just bizarre. Even though I was not ready to jump head first into rock and roll mornings, it happened and turned out to be one of my most treasured mysteries and memories of my dad.
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| Sheet pan breakfast of potatoes and cherry tomatoes with eggs and bacon. |
I remember coming downstairs, groggy, after dressing quickly without my mom's guidance which lead to some bad clothes choices and sometimes dirty socks. The house still cold and dark, then the bright florescent overhead light and sounds of the transistor radio on the kitchen counter playing songs like This Magic Moment and Wedding Bell Blues louder than I was prepared to hear. And my dad, smiling and more upbeat and happier than I was prepared to see. I can imagine his big teeth and red face greeting me, asking how I wanted my eggs, like I was a real person. Before this, he treated me like some random goofy kid that had no say in these matters. I hated early mornings, being woken up period, ever. I despised going to school, so my mood was less than stellar. But I quickly learned, one must stay positive when attending dad's big breakfasts. And grateful. What I really wanted was warm Cream of Wheat and my mother but it turned out bacon, eggs, and toast was actually pretty special. Sitting in the high back wooden chairs at the little table across from my sister in a smoky kitchen thick with the smell of bacon and again, the pop sounds of the late sixties blaring was so different that it spun my little morning world. I realized that year that my dad had a completely other side, I'd never seen. Everyone was moody in my house, me being no exception but dad taking care of household things, looking semi-happy to see us, was just bizarre. Even though I was not ready to jump head first into rock and roll mornings, it happened and turned out to be one of my most treasured mysteries and memories of my dad. 
