My brother Craig loved burned toast. At least, he told Mom he did.

For the record, I didn’t believe him. I thought he was just currying favor with the chief cook and chauffeur.

Well, it worked. He did seem Mom’s favorite.

And she did burn a lot of toast.

It’s easy to see why now, scurrying around every morning to get four kids and a husband out the door.

“Damn it, Ceil. Watch what you’re doing.” My mom knew only one cuss word, and she always whispered it and always directed it at herself not others.

I think about her when I smell burned toast. And about Craig. I no longer think he faked it.

Loving/eating burned toast is an act of kindness.

And in case you decide to give it a try, peanut butter and jelly help a lot.