ฺฺฺBreakfast With Dad

The phone rang before dawn. As I groggily hurried downstairs to the phone in the kitchen, my mother, brothers and sisters barely stirred, knowing the call was not for them.

It was my dad, just completing the night shift. A machinist at a railway 's repair shops, he worked from eight in the evening until four in the morning.



I don't recall how it came about, but somehow I had agreed to make Dad breakfast after he finished work. It wouldn't be much of a hardship, I reasoned __ after all, I was 14 years old and thought of myself as grown up, and it would be only for the summer holidays.

"I just finished work," Dad said when I picked up the phone, " and man-oh-man, am I hungry! I' ll be home in 20 minutes, okay?"

How can he sound so cheery this early in the morning? I wondered. "Sure, Dad, breakfast will be ready," I assured him.

Dad enjoyed bacon and eggs after a hard night' s work. And he enjoyed having someone to talk to. Wide awake now, I got to work. Like every morning, I wanted this breakfast to be my best ever.

I had learned the best time to get the bacon sizzling was just as Dad walked under the streetlight at First Street. The eggs could wait until he had entered the house.

Dawn was breaking, but a million twinkling stars were still visible as I saw a figure nearing Fourth. I khew it was Dad, striding at his usual quick pace in the cool, fresh air and swinging his lunch bucket in time with his footsteps. A faint whistling tune accompanied his trek homeward.

From this vantage point I could see our old Pontiac sitting in the shadows of an obscure part of the yard. If it still ran, Dad could have used it in bad weather to go back and forth to work. But with eight children, a house to maintain and a meagre salary, the paycheque would stretch only so for.

The bacon soon was jumping and spitting in the frying pan, trying to outdo the coffee pot fot attention. I watched the toast carefully, opening and shutting the side doors of the toaster, checking to make sure the thick slices of Mother's homemade bread were browned to perfection.

The screen door hinges squeaked as if to warn me. "Good morning!" Dad said as he stepped into the kitchen, smiling from ear to ear, obviously pleased. "I' m so hungry I could eat a horse!"

He went straight to the large porcelain kitchen sink, soaped his hands, then splashed water on his face, rubbing his cheeks vigorously. "Has to crawl into the belly of 1256 to replace some burned-out brick. Man, that's a dirty job!"

I cracked the shells and slid the eggs into the pand as he sat down at the kitchen table. After a pause he said, "It 's wouderful to have you make breakfast for me. I really appreciate it."

"I don' t mind, I really don't,"I said as I dished out his bacon and eggs. "Once I'm up, it's not so bad."

compliments were difficult for both of us. He seemed to find it awkward to express them, while I was a little uncomfortable receiving them. I found though, at this early hour and with just the two of us together, a special bond seemed to enter our relationship, a bond absent during the rest of the day.

As Dad ate. he would tell me about his "day." He knew every locomotive by its number and knew most of their ailments. I learned to appreciate the fondness he had for 861, with her chronic boiler problems, of for old 998, running "smooth as a kitten."

"Want some more coffee, Dad? Or more toast?" He shook his head, leaned back in his chair. Contentment had replaced the weariness that followed him when he first arrived. Replacing the fatigue in his eyes were twinkles as he recounted his stories. But now it was my turn to stifle a yawn as sleep called me to return to my unfinished dreams. Dad noticed.

"I think you should go back to bed so you won't be too tired tomorow__ or today," he corrected himself. "I'm going to relax in my chair and read the nerspaper for a while." He paused, then turned to face me. "Thanks for the beautiful breakfast, son , I enjoyed it a lot."

I smiled, trying to conceal a measure of pride. "You're welcome, Dad."

I hesitated. I sensed for a moment that he might want to show me his affection with a hug. Perhaps he, too, yearned for a hug. But we were not a hugging family. Dad went into the front room, while I retreated to my bed, pulling the covers over my head.

But we both knew that tomorrow I would rise again at dawn to the sound of his phone call, then watch for him to pass Fourth Strret so I could fry the bacon just right . It was our time together.