You, who cracked the egg with a 'tap-tap-crack' before you had the words

When you were still little, you called eggs 'tap-tap-crack.' At first, I didn't know what you meant, so I just went along with it, saying, 'That's right, it's a tap-tap-crack, isn't it?'

I noticed you always said it whenever I was holding an egg, so I asked, 'Are you talking about eggs?' and you gave me a smile that bloomed like a flower in full blossom.

Even when I didn't understand, you kept trying to tell me, didn't you? Saying, 'That is a tap-tap-crack.'

And then, like the contents bursting out of a cracked egg, you began to let your words overflow with such energy.

Before I knew it, you, who could only say 'tap-tap-crack,' were clearly telling me things like, 'Egg! Do the tap-tap,' and 'Let's mix it up.'

When I take eggs out of the fridge, I always do it secretly. Because the moment you spot an egg, you come running into the kitchen with such energy, shouting, 'I'm going to do the tap-tap-crack!'

Washing our hands and cracking the egg together is a huge waste of time. You want to mix the egg, you want to pour it into the frying pan. When you're around, cooking doesn't progress at all.

…Or so I thought.

Maybe I put too much salt in the rolled omelet I can make so smoothly now. Just imagining the day when you won't come into the kitchen anymore makes the omelet taste a little salty.

While I still can, let's crack, mix, burn, laugh, and even get a little angry together. I'll make sure to burn the image of that small back standing in the kitchen into my memory. My memory isn't reliable, so I'll make sure to take pictures with my phone, too.