That was it. He was out the door of his house and over to invite me to come and eat pancakes with them. I knew I would have more fun eating those eggs on top of a pancake with him, than eating them alone downstairs so I followed him to their eating area.
He was fascinated with how I was cracking and peeling the eggs. He wanted to try opening them. If I said yes, I knew that an egg massacre would happen. Did it matter? I couldn’t see that Kelvin was really going to miss those other 2 eggs, since he didn’t even know I had cooked some for him yet.
The shell became interesting to Michael. He initially explored the pattern of the cracks; then he used his tiny fingers to figure out how he could pick away minuscule pieces after the initial banging of the egg on the table. He puzzled over how those little pieces would stick to his fingers when he would try to wipe them off on a plate or on a cloth that was nearby. When he would wipe his fingers on the cloth, his digits would pick up more shells than they would put down. He would wipe and look; then look and wipe. He picked out the small pieces of egg that would cling to the shell and put them aside.
He thoughtfully looked to his parents for permission to put the shell to his lips.
“Well, daddy eats the inside of eggs, but it is up to you. Do it daddy’s way, or your way.”
Michael took the cue to mean go ahead.
His eyes danced as he crunched pieces of the shell.
“Guess you have had your calcium for the day,” said Richard, shaking his head and digging into his own breakfast.
Not to worry about full nutrition for the morning. Egg shells and the rejected soft-boiled egg aside, Michael finished off his own meal with pieces of his pancake, double-dipped in maple syrup.
I can eat breakfast over there every Saturday, Sunday and holiday at 7:45 am.
I will have a different Michael story for each morning that I go over there. Want to hear another?