After my mother got a job working the switchboard at the very college that was the rival of the college my dad worked at. My dad started having my sister and I get up on saturday mornings and cook breakfast together. Dad had us learn how to cook our own eggs.

My dad and I tended to get creative. My sister just stuck to the basics. My dad and I were always looking for something to try to put in the eggs that we felt would make them taste good. Sometimes this led to accidents. My favorite to tell about was when dad accidentally picked up the cinnamon and sprinkled that all over the egg he was frying. My sister and I saw this and before we could warn him, the egg was well covered. He still attempted to eat it anyway to our amusement.

My birthday always falls during the same week as Thanksgiving. So I rarely had school on my birthday. The day of my sixteenth birthday which was also Thanksgiving day we were to go have our big dinner at Granny and Pappy’s. All three of my uncles and their families would also be there. I was mainly looking forward to all the food. Especially the banana pudding and pecan pie that Granny always made sure that we had. Even though Granny always made sure that there was plenty, the pecan pie and banana pudding always got finished.

When I got up that morning I found my dad in the kitchen just finishing up frying eggs. For my birthday, he fixed me a very very big breakfast. He set out a plate for me with flaky biscuits, bacon, sausage and six of the greasiest fried eggs I had ever been served. He fixed those eggs how I liked them. Yokes broken and well stirred in with the whites before they even went into the grease. Little did I know that after that day, I would never want to look at fried eggs again. I still like eggs. But not FRIED!

I pretty much dived into this yummy looking breakfast. Normally back then I could finish that with no problem. By the time had most of the eggs eaten, I began to realize these eggs were making me feel odd. I couldn’t say that they were making me feel sick, but I was sure I was not feeling right. Being young, I thought I would be ok if I didn’t eat the rest.

About an hour later we left. Since I was now sixteen, dad had me drive. At first that was fine. But that oddness slowly got worse. By the time we got there, I knew that I was not my best. So I just sat around hoping it would pass instead of running around with all my younger cousins. I am the oldest grandchild. I must have seemed like a spoil sport that day.

Finally the turkey was served. I was also presented with my birthday cake and the whole family sang Happy Birthday. They asked me to stand up and say a speech. That would have normally been a mistake. I get started and I tend to not shut up. So I stood up with a big smile hiding how I felt. I couldn’t let on, that I was now feeling bad. Still couldn’t say I felt sick. But I certainly felt bad. If I mentioned how I felt, Granny would have made my two Doctor Uncles take care of me. So all I said was something like, “Let’s eat.” And I quickly sat down.

There I sat looking at all that delicious food and my stomach was turning over. I made myself eat. Normally at a Thanksgiving dinner, I filled my plate over and over. This time I didn’t finish my first plate and I barely said anything. I did make sure that I got some cake. I knew if I didn’t get any of my cake there would be none by the end of the day.

After the meal, I pretty much lazed the day away. I didn’t let mother or daddy know how I felt until it was time to leave. I didn’t feel like driving. I slept all the way home and went straight to bed once we were there instead of going out like I planned. The saddest part, was that I didn’t get any banana pudding or pecan pie.