Breakfast with Dad

My dad and I are the morning people in our family. Everyone else is a night owl. When I wake up, I'm ready to go. I can sing in the morning without having to go through much of a "wake myself up," routine. I can belt out the song "I'm a morning person." (Warning: If you click this link, this song will be stuck in your head for the rest of the day.)

The diner is welcoming in the morning. This is one of the best places, I think, drinking in the familiarity. Sunlight streams in through the big windows, bathing the booths and long counter in natural light. I can smell the coffee and bacon, as soon as I walk through the door. I can see one of the cooks frying eggs at the griddle. She must have it down to a science by now.

I've started to recognize some of the regulars. Some customers come here every morning, and they all have a usual. My dad and I are far from that, but our trips to the diner are semi-regular. We go enough that the main morning waitress, Rachel, recognizes us. But she remembers lots of faces. It makes her great at her job. I'm close to having a usual. My problem is that I go back and forth between ordering the French toast and the scrambled eggs with toast. My order of bacon remains constant.

"Do you want to sit here?" I ask my dad, pointing to a booth close to the self-serve coffee.

"I'm gonna grab my coffee first," he says.

I slide into the booth and set down my purse. I give Dad a minute to get his coffee before getting my own. I select a mug. It's white and made of thick ceramic, like all its counterparts on the mug rack. These mugs are the perfect size, I think. They can hold enough coffee for all the coffee to stay warm. They're perfect for refills too. I don't like big mugs, because they force speed or reheating if you want to drink a hot beverage. I fill my mug, adding a dash of cream and some sugar.

My dad and I sit down across from each other at the booth. I take a sip of coffee and let out a happy sigh. I love these mornings.

The mornings where Dad and I get breakfast together.

My dad is easy to talk to about pretty much anything. He has mastered small talk and can talk about the weather with ease. (If you're into that sort of thing.) He tries to be funny, possessing an arsenal of dad jokes. He asks good questions, which makes him a helpful person to have at company meetings.

I love the ease with which I can set the tone of our conversations. I can keep things lighthearted or go serious. My dad's flexible and willing to listen to what I have to say. I tend to shy away from the trivial and opt for more of the serious.

I talk to him about his work, about church, and about his plans to build a shed in the backyard. He tells me the dog woke him up at 5 am. He thinks she misses when I was on night shift and could be there with her in the middle of the night.

I tell him that he's probably right, but that I can't help it. I like being a normal human.

Rachel comes up, two menus tucked under her arm. "Do you know what you want?" she asks, not even bothering to set the menus down. I order the French toast this time, but I add chocolate chips. I'm in more of a sweet mood today.

Dad orders two over-easy eggs, with salt-rising bread toast, and sausage. He has a thing for salt-rising bread. It might be because it's something Mom doesn't buy.

He tells me the joke of the day. He picks one new joke to tell people throughout the day. "How did Vikings send their secret messages?" he asks.

I play along. "How?" I ask.

"Norse code!"

I groan, the proper response, but follow up. "Not too bad," I tell him. "I get it."

I let him know that I get it, because he is always eager to explain his jokes if the listener doesn't get it.

We talk about my sister's heavy workload at college and about my brother's preparation for his driver's test.

I ask him about relationships, and if I should ask the guy out or wait for him to make the first move. We talk about my future and discuss the best way to deal with people who refuse to send formal emails.

Our food comes. Rachel tops off our coffees and brings me a little more creamer. Guess I am getting close to regular status.

The bacon is savory, complimenting my coffee and French toast. Delicious. It's what I wanted this morning.

The time passes, and all too soon, it's time for my dad to head into work.

We walk out to our cars, and I give him a hug. "Love you," I say. "Have a good day at work."

"Love you too," he says. "I'll try."

I unlock my car door and pause for a moment in the driver's seat. I watch my dad pull out of the parking lot. I know the whole event might seem trivial. But these times carry more and more weight as I get older, and I can still have these sorts of times with my dad. Breakfast with coffee.

"Thanks, Dad," I say, even though he can't hear me.

Thanks for being a part of my life, for loving me, and for supporting me. Thank you for being someone who listens to me.

And as Father's Day approaches, I realize once again how blessed I am to have such a great dad.

I love our talks at breakfast. It's felt like a special thing, because we're the morning people. Here's to being a morning person, loving breakfast with coffee, and celebrating dads!