Hey Mom, What’s for Breakfast

Sometimes when I try to think of something to share in my blog that’s not what is happening to me today, I struggle to share past memories and that is the reason I started to journal. So many of the stories that my parents have shared are lost, I’ve forgotten them. Many of the tales are entertaining to all, but I especially wanted to write them down as part of my children’s heritage.

Breakfast was many times a bowl of cereal. The milk was whole milk poured from a large glass jar, refilled at a nearby farm. The milk often became a point of contention between my dad, Carl Beck and me. I guess I have a sensitive palate, because I could tell when the cow “got into the weeds” and would give the milk an off taste. I didn’t want to use it and dad said it was fine. His nickname for milk was cow-titty-swizzer. My dad’s favorite cereal was shredded wheat, although Wheaties, Kellogg’s corn flakes, or Rice Krispies might be found.

One of my dad’s favorite tricks was to place the icy cold milk jug against me or my brother Ken’s unsuspecting bare back as we gathered around the kitchen table, although, Saturday morning breakfasts were quite different fare. It usually involved my mother, Sybil frying some type of meat: bacon, sausage, squirrel and serving it with either pancakes of eggs and toast. Saturday morning’s breakfast table was a veritable feast. My dad enjoyed food and many of my eating habits came from him.

One unusual habit that I didn’t pick up was the grease, left over from the fired meat. He insisted that Mom pour it on the meat platter, serve it, and Dad would sop it up to flavor his pancakes or toast. The drippings from the squirrel were made into gravy and everyone would smear it on our pancakes to eat.

When I started high school, I got into the habit of having tea and toast for breakfast. Most times the toast was simply “buttered” if you can call oleo butter, but many times it was coated with cinnamon-sugar or rarely jelly. There were two flavors of jelly at our house, Concord grape or wild strawberry. Both types were handpicked and homemade. It was rare that there was another flavor, although I seem to recall some apple butter, peach, or elderberry; always homemade and never bought.

As long as we are able to share our memories, whether it’s the mundane parts of our lives or the more adventurous, it will stir memories of others to keep things from being forgotten.