My father isn’t a morning person, and I’ve inherited his talent to enjoy breakfast while reading something, preferably the morning newspaper, without speaking (my husband, who is most definitely a morning person, is trying valiantly to break me of this habit).
Ironically, one of my favorite memories of my father has to do with mornings. And camping!
My father worked very hard when I was growing up, and he left most of the cooking to my mother. But when we went camping, he would often — maybe even always — make breakfast. He’d be up early when I was still thinking about leaving the comfort of my sleeping bag for the long walk to the campground bathroom. I distinctly remember our tin coffee pot and the Coleman camp stove on which he would fry bacon. When the bacon was done, he’d fry eggs. There was so much bacon grease, those eggs practically would be boiled in oil!
But, boy, were they good! Mother never made breakfast like that at home!
My Beloved and I took the old RV out for a spin this weekend and camped in nearby Galena, Ill. My brother-in-law and sister-in-law joined us, and this morning, my brother-in-law made a mound of bacon and decadent greasy eggs (in an electric skillet, alas). In honor of Father’s Day, we shared Dad-related memories over breakfast, and I told the story of Dad’s delicious eggs.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad! I hope you enjoyed your toast and banana this morning, but I know I enjoyed my greasy eggs and bacon!