Toast

There was a five and dime called Murphy’s when I was a kid and sometimes on a Saturday morning, my dad would take just me with him to the lunch counter.

We’d sit at the chipped formica table together. I always told the waitress that I wanted chocolate milk and toast. My order never changed.

My dad would get some coffee, of course, because that’s what most adults drank.

And he’d always let me reorder more toast, I don’t recall one time that he told me no…nor do I remember him saying no to another glass of chocolate milk.

I loved the small packs of butter and jelly. I’d take my knife and carefully spread both onto my beautiful toasted bread, cut into triangles.

Not too light and not too dark. In the middle somewhere, the perfect tan color.

As an adult myself, whenever I get a taste for something light, yet comforting, I’ll go for the loaf of bread (usually wheat now), check the fridge for the butter (with a touch of sea salt) and then pray that we have some jelly (or jam) in the house.

Tonight, I opened up a new jar of BEAR jam that I recently bought at a farmers market.

Just like when I was a kid, one serving isn’t enough, so I make myself another round.

Instead of chocolate milk, which I rarely drink because of the high sugar, I just drink a glass of plain milk.

The store is gone now, they closed it down many years ago. Oh, how I’d love to go back and sit at that old fashioned lunch counter with my dad again.

I had my father for 12 years here on earth and I’ll never stop missing him. I’m just really glad that I have this special memory from my childhood.

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