I grew up in Waimanalo back in the 60s & 70s with my 4 younger sisters, 1 younger brother, Mom,Dad, & Grandma. We lived in a small brick house with only 3 bedrooms so I never had myown room until I was grown and married (even then I had to share it with my husband!!).But we lived quite happily in that little house and made lots of loving memories.
My Dad worked a lot and didn*t feel like he was spending enough quality time with us kids so he would often think up different ways to stayconnected. One way was to have a traditional big Sunday breakfast. Since there were somany mouths to feed, Mom and Dad would buy those big flats of eggs from the egg farm thatwas out in the back roads near the foot of the Ko*olaus. We were going to have eggs, overeasy, lots of bacon, lots of fried potatoes with onions, and lots of toast to sop up therunny egg yolks (mmmm, ono-licious!).
Well, Sunday morning arrived. Dad was up bright andearly. He was to be the head chef and all of us kids would be his assistants. Onekid was in charge of loading the 2-slice toaster, another got the buttering job. Oneset the table, another helped cut up potatoes. But the most important job fell to HeadChef Dad...he would cook the eggs to perfection. Or so he thought. After making sure thatthe skillet was heated just right and the butter had melted but not burned, Iwatched him reach his hand out for the first egg.
I was filled with anticipation and made sure I hadthe best viewing spot. The egg was in his hand...he cracked it against the side of theskillet...he held the cracked egg over the skillet and gently pried it apart...nothingcame out!
Dad looked so surprised. He turned the two halvesover & looked astonished when he discovered that it was hard boiled! He picked upanother egg, cracked it against the edge of the skillet, pried it open, andagain...nothing! Another hard boiled egg! This continued for at least 5 more eggs, eachone hard boiled, and each time Dad got angrier and angrier! All of us kids were reallyworried. The next thing I knew, he grabbed up the eggs, his car keys, and with Mom rightbehind him, drove those eggs back to the egg farm !!
When the lady at the egg farm saw that all thoseeggs were hard boiled, she apologized profusely and gave my Dad TWO flats of eggs...FORFREE! When they got home, he finished making breakfast, and as usual it was terrific! Ifound out later that week, at school, that the egg farm lady gave her kids dirty lickingsfor boiling all those eggs.
I was 24 years old before I got up the nerve totell my Mom that I was the one that boiled them! I never did get the nerve to tell my Dad.He passed away this past August. (looking up to heaven...) Sorry Dad just kidding!
About Author
Ann Schollwas brought up in Waimanalo, living just "three blocks from Mel*s Market." She*sthe oldest of 6 kids and attended Kailua High School. She is an alumni of the Kailua HighSchool Madrigal Singers (1972). She now lives in Northern Virginia with her husband, aretired Army master sergeant. They have 3 sons. She is an administrative assistant withthe Newspaper Association of America. Her hobbies include Civil War reenacting, complete with hoop skirt and the southern belle "ya*all" dialect, singing anddancing (Hawaiian and country western). When able, she visits her mom, who currently lives in Haleiwa, Oahu.
