It’s about a quarter after 8 o’clock on a Sunday morning in October at my family home, a renovated cape cod sheltered by colored oaks in a quaint suburb of Cleveland, Ohio. Streams of sunlight peek through the brown polyester curtains into the dark room to reveal a 5 blade fan circling above overhead. Mouthwatering aromas of sweet sizzling bacon slowly dominate the room as I lie there, causing my mind to drift off into space. It has been 9 weeks since I have been home to partake in our habitual Sunday morning breakfast. Lunch, Dinner, and snacks are the only meals of existence for me while I’m living away at college. If I eat anything at all in the morning it’s a handful of Wheat Thins or Goldfish crackers to hold me over during my first few classes. This is mainly because the breakfast foods at the dinning hall are high on preservatives and nothing to brag about. That being said, I have missed being treated to a real and satisfying breakfast. I stop daydreaming, realizing my dream was about to come true. I quickly dress myself, brush my teeth, and hurry down the creaking wooden staircase tracing the savory trail. My heart began to race in coordination with the rest of my body as I got into the kitchen, where the delectable scents became stronger and stronger. My nostrils begin to perspire and my mouth moistens, envisioning sweetly tender bacon, hot cinnamon raisin French toast, and crispy seasoned potatoes that are always included in our Sunday morning breakfasts. I began to stare at the small heating oven in the center of the room, which must be the source of all the commotion. I was just about to open up its taunting door when my father walks into the kitchen, looking pleased with the hugest grin on his face. My dad has been awake since 6 o’clock grading algebra exams, getting the rest of his weekend work done, and preparing breakfast for us three sleeping kids. He has always found pride in making us a big breakf