My dad’s breakfasts are legendary. Many of my childhood memories are of waking up on Saturday or Sunday mornings to the smell of frying bacon or pancake batter simmering on the griddle. He’d whistle through his teeth and hum little songs as he cooked and my siblings and I couldn’t wait to sit down for the feast.
Until one morning I happened to be watching my dad as he was making scrambled eggs. He cracked the eggs, one by one, into a bowl and whipped them up with a fork like a seasoned chef. He poured the pale yellow mixture into the hot pan and the eggs began doing their magic, firming up and becoming fluffy as he stirred them gently. And then…as the eggs neared the end of their cook time, Dad nonchalantly swiped a bag of cheese from the counter, reached in, and sprinkled a handful of yellow shreds all over the eggs. Just like he’s probably done 100 times before.
I remember becoming very upset. There were no pancakes this morning so the eggs were to be the only companion to the bacon. But..but he put CHEESE in them! I refused to eat the eggs. I cried. My dad became confused and then angry, because what parent wouldn’t find a child crying over cheese upsetting? “You eat them every time I make them!” he exclaimed. “But I didn’t know there was cheese in them!” I cried. I swear. This conversation really happened. And I would not eat those eggs that day, nor would I eat any scrambled eggs my dad made after that unless I was certain they did not contain cheese.
The funny thing is, I remember this so well. But I can’t ever remember a time in my life where I didn’t like cheese!