As a boy, I spent time in foster care then lived with my dad for a while. He hadn’t been a part of my life for years, but for that short season he tried to be a real father to me. Since he didn’t know how to connect with me through conversation, he showed me affection the only way he could: he cooked.
One Saturday morning, he slid some bacon and eggs in front of me, and I noticed a yellow spreading across the plate.