My grandfather is a strong man. He can be tough. Let’s just say he’s been through a lot. He’s been known to be lecturey and serious and intense, but over a brunch, more specifically over a plate of eggs, that’s when I see his hard shell come crashing down. My abuelo likes to eat the yolk of a cooked egg with a spoon, slurping it up with careless abandon and eagerness. It is by far one of the most heart-shattering things I’ve ever seen! Because he’s a young boy again when he does it. With a plan to scoop and a spoon in his right hand, he’s innocent and vulnerable and runny, just like those sunny-side-up huevos.
I don’t eat eggs myself, but I do enjoy a good internal cry watching my grandfather devour his. When I get to see his soft insides, yellow and bright.