Growing up with a father in the Amy we moved around…a lot. We were never in one place more than a few years. (2 at most) It wasn’t too bad because we lived on base so my friends always moved too. One year we were on the road during Christmas. We were driving to my dad’s next base.
During major holidays it seems like the world stops. Stores close, there are very few cars on the road, snow swirls across the street like a flurry of ballet dancers then disappears. A grey mist hangs in the air making everything seem fuzzy, almost like you’re looking at everything through a blanket. It was on a Christmas such as this my family found ourselves driving down the road, starving. I don’t know what my parents had planned to do in this situation but luckily we found a Waffle House. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this Southern staple it’s a small greasy diner that specializes in weak coffee and waffles. The waitresses yell out your order and you can watch the cooks make your food. They are open 24hrs and everyone is required to work all day on holidays. I was never more grateful for that last part than when we pulled up and discovered Waffle House was open.
That year there was no tree, gifts, or Christmas ham. Just eggs, hashbrowns, and waffles with a side of bacon. It was wonderful. Surprisingly there were a few other people there. This may be why it holds a special place in my heart. Open any time day or night Waffle House is there, waiting like an old friend. Even to this day, when I go home I always make it a point to go. It holds so many great memories for me.