My Father's Son

I am my father's son.  This I know to be true, as day by day, year by year, I see more of his behaviors in myself.

Tonight, my other half is working overnight. I never sleep well when she works overnights.  Perhaps because I've become accustomed to having her near.  Perhaps because I know she hears the kiddos fuss better than me.  Anyway...

Tonight I was watching some television as the kiddos were drifting off to sleep. In one scene in a diner, someone ordered an omelet.  For some weird reason I started remembering growing up and late night TV watching with my folks.  After a time, Mom would head off to bed and Dad and I would stay up watching M*A*S*H or something, and for whatever reason Dad would get up and head to the kitchen to make fried egg sandwiches. 

He would always ask as he was walking by "Do you want a fried egg sandwich?"
I would always say "Yes, please."

Eggs. Fried in a little butter. A little Miracle Whip on a couple pieces of Hillbilly Old Fashioned bread. Oh my.

Tonight at the mention of that omelet the taste of those sandwiches came rushing back, and I just had to make one.

I don't have Hillbilly bread, and the Miracle Whip people have made some changes to the formula of their spread. But I fried up an egg anyway and sat down with a cold glass of milk to enjoy it.  It didn't taste as good as the fried egg sandwiches Dad made when I was young.  But it was pretty OK.  The only thing that would have made it better is sharing one with my Dad.

Turns out that over the past forty plus years, I've really enjoyed hanging out with my Dad.  I sure hope that my kids will feel the same way about me in forty years or so.

More Later