Friday, Sept 5, 2025

 I stopped by my dad’s this morning to give him a haircut. It was the day after his 88th Birthday. 

He poured me a cup of coffee and told his wife, Sharon, and me that he was going to start making breakfast for us.    ” No, Dad, don’t make anything for me. I’m good, but thank you”.  I said.

” Oh, come on, Sherry, you can eat breakfast with us. How many eggs will you eat? I eat four a day,” he counters, as he smiles across the kitchen at me.  I agree to eat breakfast with them. This isn’t just for me; he does this for his sons and grandchildren, if any of them happen by for a visit before noon. 

He’s got his well-worn skillet going on the stove, and as he begins frying bacon, the smell takes me back to when I was a kid, and suddenly I am sitting in the old farmhouse where he was raised, and where we were raised. Dad made breakfast every Sunday back in the day.

I watch him, his back is to me as he lifts the bacon from the pan, pours out a little of the bacon grease, and begins to crack eggs into the grease he deliberately left there for the taste. There’s a kind of reverence in the way he cracks them, like he’s done it a thousand times — because he has.

Pouring love into such a simple thing.  He is tickled when he cracks a LARGE egg into the pan, and it’s a double joker. He tips his head in his familiar way and smiles. 

 With eggs sizzling and popping in the grease, he pulls out an electric knife, plugs it in, and cuts a few slices of the bread off the loaf to make toast. He flips the eggs, then grins and proudly confesses that he pours liquid smoke over his eggs for extra flavor. He puts the electric knife away, waits for the toast to pop up, and then spreads butter over each piece very generously.

He placed the plate in front of me like it was the most natural thing in the world — and maybe to others it is. But I felt the weight of it.

Because when your father is 88, nothing feels ordinary anymore. Every small act becomes a keepsake in my heart. A reminder to tuck these moments away and pray they stay with me forever.

 I’m reminded that love shows up in the smallest acts of kindness, like a fried egg, buttered toast, or crispy bacon.

We ate breakfast together.  Drank too many cups of coffee, and when I left, I hugged him tight, told him I loved him, and thanked him. –

FOR ME, it was not just for the breakfast, but for a lifetime of moments just like this one. He always put his family first, and if there was only one four donuts left or four slices of pie, after he and I and my three brothers were working all day….well, suddenly he didn’t want anything sweet and you make himself. A god-awful olive loaf sandwich. 😄

I have been incredibly BLESSED because GOD GAVE US HIM as a father and friend.

*** Breakfast was served on a paper plate, but I can assure you, it wouldn’t have touched my heart any deeper or meant more to me if the plate had been lined with pure gold.  This is the GOOD STUFF that life is made of.