I Believe In Breakfast

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Morning had arrived in the average way yet again. As dreams begin fading from my seven year old mind, I hear downtempo footsteps shuffling across the carpet and down the hall, then slowly moving past my door. As they continue I can finally hear the slow transition from carpet to the abused wood floors in the kitchen. Like a Rolex, grandpa’s internal clock awoke him again right on cue. As I plod down the hall like the living dead I rub my eyes and walk around the corner in what is much less then a heroic fashion. “Good Morning,” cracks the eight hour seal on my ears and an insignificant, “hi,” hiccups out of my throat. The proceeding moments define why I believe in breakfast.

Thinking back I find it hard to picture a day I didn’t awake this way. The eighty-five year old man slowly setting down another simply made breakfast at my seat, and finally serving himself his classic. One grande cup of luke warm Folgers coffee with a bowl of cheerios, chased by that yellow fruit that kept the doctors away, a morning banana. As grandpa’s false teeth gnawed away at the banana he would report his most recent endeavors at work.

As I dig deeper and deeper towards what seems like a bottomless pit of oatmeal I get deeper and deeper towards the true meaning of these stories. As any young person would, I only took the stories for their one-demential meaning. He would recall erecting a 5 foot tall precious marble fireplace, made with marble so beautiful that the grains and grooves within it rival the detail on the presidents resolute desk; but to me the fireplace it was just another place to burn wood. Many years later I started to slowly realize the purpose behind those stories. The fireplace was an illustration of what built a man, not what a man built. Dignity, honesty, handwork, care, and more are not what make a fireplace, instead they design the creator. They’re the important things that make a fireplace more then just another place to burn wood. Over the twenty minutes a day it took me to force brown sugar mush down my throat, I learned more than six hours of school a day ever taught me. That table is where I learned intrinsic lessons more important than any book can teach.

They always said that breakfast was the most important meal of the day, and I could only tell you countless stories of why I couldn’t agree more. Those few quiet early eyed moments to sit and listen to the message that is quietly hiding behind each person that you choose to share those moments with, can be worth more then any person can fully explain. Its more than just a story, its a time of reflection. It’s an instant where you can create yourself. The words shared between two people over that mediocre cup of coffee and morning banana, is the reason why I believe in breakfast.

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