When I was a kid, I (and later my brother), for several years, would go with my father to my grandfather’s house in the morning before school and have breakfast with him and my father.
We affectionately called him, "Poppy," which was a play on the "Papa Harris" that we normally said.
The breakfast we had was one of the oddest sorts, especially for a six-year-old. Bacon and coffee.
I am not joking or exaggerating by any means.
Poppy always had several pieces of bacon ready for us, and I took milk and sugar in my coffee. This doesn’t sound like much, but believe me, it was a delicious breakfast, even if it was somewhat unhealthy.
I can’t remember how much sugar I took in my coffee, but I think my dad always limited me to like two spoonfuls; in retrospect, that was a good idea.
The whole issue of drinking coffee began when I would wake up early in the morning, around 5 or so, and go sit with my father in his chair and watch early morning TV. My father, without fail, takes his coffee with cream and sugar.
To this day, I can take coffee black, blonde, blonde and sweet, hot, cold, just about any way.
However, I do not eat bacon for obvious reasons.
Anyone in the South can also tell you that food at a grandparent’s house is almost always better than anywhere else, and the tradition of breakfast at Poppy’s is no different.
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