My daddy was a cross country truck driver. He didn’t talk much, but he did listen well. He wasn’t too keen on speaking his opinions in public or doling out advice, even when asked, but he sure did make the best scrambled eggs.

I remember the careful steps he took preparing them. I can see him pulling the eggs out from their carton in the refrigerator, one-by-one, and placing them in his special egg bowl on the kitchen countertop to rest until they reached the perfect room temperature.

My sisters and I would gather around to watch our daddy create his egg masterpiece on Sunday mornings. He called us his little army of three. You see, our daddy was a Master Sergeant in the US Army long before he had a wife and children.

“Terri, get my favorite skillet (it was a black cast iron one)... Kathi, bring me the salt and pepper. Vikki, you get daddy a fork,” I hear him saying. Our daddy added the love.

At the right moment, my daddy would place the skillet over a low flame with just enough bacon drippings to cover the bottom of the pan with a glaze. We’d watch him add the eggs and seasonings, while we prepared the table. Our daddy would swirl that fork around and around for what seemed like forever, stirring, and scrambling his eggs until finally his masterpiece was complete.

In our youth, the three of us shared many conversations around the breakfast table with our daddy on Sunday mornings. We, our daddy, and his scrambled eggs seasoned with love.

Make a memory or your own today, by sharing your love, your time, and some scrambled eggs with someone.

By: Kathi
Hometown: Cleveland