My mom she was really big on breakfast. Throughout my childhood, the first thing I heard in the morning was Mom hollering up the stairs to make sure I was awake. Sound traveled well in that house. The pillow over my head did nothing to shut out her next question, “How do you want your eggs?”
I always gave the same answer, “I’m not hungry,” as I buried myself back into the comforter. But I had to go to school, so I opened my eyes, squinting at the cheerful walls in my room. They were covered with orange-flowered wallpaper. By the way, not my choice. I wanted the wallpaper with blue flowers. The frilly curtains on my eastern window were bright with the rising sun.
Climbing out of bed, I heard the next installment ringing throughout the house, “Do you want fried or scrambled?”
After a suitable pause to reflect my spirit of independence, I calmly produced my answer, “I’m not eating breakfast.”
Without missing a beat, Mom asked, “Scrambled wet or dry?”
I didn’t reply as I got dressed. Ready to go, I moseyed down the stairs and was hit with the sweet odors of breakfast. Silently walking into the kitchen, I sat down at the breakfast table. Mom didn’t say a word as I wolfed down scrambled eggs, fresh orange juice, and toast with jelly. Blood sugar re-charged, I found myself skipping out the back door as I heard, “Have a good day at school.”
The next morning would dawn very much the same. My mom yelled up the stairs to wake me up. When I opened my eyes, I was greeted with the same orange flowers. The sun hadn’t moved much and still shone through the window with optimism. Through the pillow, I heard Mom asking, “How do you want your eggs? I replied, “I’m not hungry.”
My mom was born on April 5, 1910. She would have been 100 years old today.