The Dewey Hatfield Memorial Denny's Breakfast

The two eggs & more breakfast with grits and dry white toast.

Oddly, my siblings and I all ended up eating at Denny's yesterday, even though we weren't all together (yet).

My father loved Denny's. I used to take him to Denny's at least twice a week once he didn't drive anymore. He nearly always ordered that same meal. With a cup of coffee. And a refill. Which would take him forever to finish--and he had to finish it--regardless of how well or badly behaved my children were and how insane they were driving me.

I laugh at memories of him blandly sipping his coffee, watching me reprimand my brood or chase after them in the restaurant.

"Dad, you ready to go yet?" I'd ask.

"I still have a little bit of coffee," he'd always answer, pointing at the two sips still left in the cup. There was hardly a swallow left, but it would take him 20 minutes to finish it.

Sometimes, I'd pay the bill and take my kids out to the car where they could wrestle, argue, make car noises with their mouths, or play without disturbing anyone else. Later, I learned to crochet and would sit across from Dad crocheting while he finished his coffee. Either way, I knew nothing would hurry him because Dad refused to be hurried.

Maybe I'll have to have a cup of coffee the next time I go in. And I'll take my time with it.