I don’t remember the exact year, and you know what….you’d think I would. After all, it must have had a profound effect on me or else why would I continue to think about it after almost thirty years. What do you say to someone who, for whatever reason, no matter how insignificant at the time, left an impression on you that you can still feel, hear, smell and taste?
If you had to pin it down, it would be sometime after the year my mother started college. I wasn’t privy to the discussions and negotiations that preceded it, but Bill had been chosen to cook breakfast for Jack and me. My mother had to leave early to make the hour long drive to college and Bill, being the oldest brother (Jack was a merely a year older than me) was the natural choice. But you know what, I’ll bet Bill looked forward to cooking us breakfast…he’s just like that; a take charge kind of guy.
Breakfast can take on so many aspects with the variety of things to cook. It sets the tone for the day and I as I look back on it, I think Bill knew that. Bill had a knack for a lot of things and his cooking skills stood out as one of his early triumphs. I think back to the scrambled egg because they weren’t just eggs, but rather arrangements created with love that might include ham, chopped and added for variety; sometimes cheese, sausage… whatever he thought would fit the morning and the mood. But when you factor in the creamy smoothness of the eggs and the perfect texture on the palette, each creation was a masterpiece. And just when you thought you might want something different, then it might be the pancakes that seemed to know no imperfection. Golden brown circles of delight covered with syrup that would have been the crowning glory if not for the slices of bacon that had been placed to the side. Surely they were fashioned with a vision that toyed with deftness of Michelangelo placing the finishing touches on the statue of David.
It only stands to reason that all the days that Bill was in charge of breakfast there had to be a flaw of some sort now and then; someone oversleeps, somebody forgot to go to the store or maybe it was a bad morning and we only had cereal. But I choose to forget those rare and mundane times and dwell instead on the innumerable occasions when Bill would stand with a posture of triumph mingled with just enough humbleness and offer me the breakfast that would be one for the ages. I look back and cannot say proudly enough… “Thanks Bill, for breakfast.”
Hundreds of excerpts from the archives of the Narcissistic Abuse Study List regarding Pathological Narcissism, relationships with abusive narcissists, and the Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD).
