Breakfast is an extremely important part of how each day should begin. This is not breaking news. Moms have been drilling this into sleepy little heads since before the dawn of school bus travel.

“Eat your grits. You’ll thank me later.”

And we all know that moms are right.

Which is why I had two slices of pound cake, buttered, and toasted, for breakfast this morning. Coffee, black, to wash it down and to get my motor running.

I know what you’re thinking. This is not the breakfast that any mother would recommend. Buttered toast maybe, but not pound cake. But I am old and wise and independent, and my cholesterol is exactly where it should be on the chart. Plus, I like pound cake.

I have to say, it was a brilliant idea.

My mother was of that generation who believed in high cholesterol cooking. I’m not poking fun. It’s just a fact. She would never have thought of it that way. Cholesterol conscious eating was not a thing when she was a young wife and mother to a growing family.

She got up at 5am. She turned on the kitchen lights when the rest of the world was in darkness. She wore her two-piece pajamas, cotton pants and shirt. Her apron over her neck and tied behind her back.

First, the flour bowl came out of the cabinet. The bacon or sausage began to sizzle in the cast iron frying pan. The hand-rolled biscuits went into the oven. The eggs were scrambled in bacon grease. The grits were always creamy and buttered.

The making of breakfast was a choreographed thing of beauty which she pulled off almost flawlessly. She would dip out a serving of grits on each plate at the table. A pat of butter slowly melting in the middle was a sight to behold. The biscuit pan sat on hot pads at the table and each biscuit that was buttered was turned over, upside down, so you’d know the butter was in there.

There were choices of homemade jams and jellies on the table. Fig preserves. Blackberry jam. Strawberry jam. Plum jelly. Mason jars filled with delicious concoctions and topped off with Gulf Wax to seal in the flavors.

About the time the biscuits went into the oven, she would open my bedroom door without saying a word. The sounds and smells would come to me in my unconscious state and began to stir me to life. Right before the grits were served up, she would come to my door again to tell me that breakfast was ready.

The aromas and sites of her kitchen are with me even now.

A sleepy little boy would drag himself into the kitchen and take his seat at the table. Cowboy pajamas with footies. He’d fold his feet up under his legs in the chair and express his gratitude for his mother’s hard work. His words thoughtfully and carefully chosen.

“Can I have some Captain Crunch?”

I have a much greater appreciation for breakfast now than I did back then. I have raised a few sleepy kids and cooked a few breakfast meals in my time.

We never fully replicated the art of my mother’s kitchen, but on Saturday mornings we’d almost always have a pancake breakfast with bacon. I considered myself the Rembrandt of pancakes. The griddle was my canvas, and the batter was my paint. I’d make plenty of basic round pancakes. But near the end I’d get creative. I was good at Mickey Mouse. One circle with two smaller circles on top.

The man had talent.

I also took requests from the gallery. Small eyes watched as I attempted the various animal shapes. Elephants and whales. Cats with whiskers. But the elephant trunks always seemed to break off with the last turn of the spatula.

According to the experts, here is what breakfast does for you. I want you to think about this, especially those of you who skip breakfast on the run.

Breakfast replenishes the glucose in your body which boosts your energy levels and your mental alertness. The brain is the only organ in your body that uses glucose as a source of energy, which means that without breakfast you’re about one step away from thinking like a worm. Worms are fish bait. Don’t be fish bait.

A good breakfast improves your mental outlook on the day. After a night of sleep, the body is ready for food. You need a lift because during the fasting hours of sleep, blood sugar levels drop. Low blood sugar tends to make a person irritable. This is why, if you don’t eat breakfast, you blow your horn and shout unfriendly suggestions to your neighbors at the red light on your way to work.

Studies show that 9 out of 10 horn blowers don’t eat breakfast.

Not feeling well? Be sure to eat something in the morning after you get up. That serving of oatmeal doesn’t just fill up your stomach, it provides nutrients to all those millions of little microbes that stay busy fighting off the infections and virus bugs that want to ruin your day. There could be some truth to the old saying that a bowl of grits a day keeps the doctor away.

Before this story starts sounding a little too much like a medical journal, let me just say that all of this began when I put two slices of heavenly pound cake in the toaster oven this morning. I know it’s not eggs and grits and bacon. I know that pound cake is not necessarily the recommended source of glucosamine. I’m sure that something healthy like yogurt or gluten-free oatmeal without the butter and sugar would be better for me.

But the point is that I like to start my day with breakfast. I am one of those who has to have something to eat almost immediately after I get up. Retirement has changed that somewhat. I am lazier now about when I eat breakfast but breakfast I must have.

Like one morning last week.

I didn’t have breakfast until nearly 10am. I got up and out of the house by 5:15 that morning. I had miles to travel and things to do first. By mid-morning I was dragging.

I pulled into a local restaurant. You know the place. Fogged up windows. Colder than a penguin’s backside. The booth seat sent chills up my spine. The waitress brought me coffee. The cup fit my hand perfectly and the warm taste of heaven stirred me to life.

“What can I get you to eat this morning?”

The waitress was cheerful. I had been planning this for hours in my head. I didn’t need a menu.

“I’ll take two pancakes with an order of bacon.”

She remained motionless. Her pen hovered over the pad in her left hand. She lowered her eyes and squinted at me.

“You want what?”

I repeated my order. “You do have pancakes, right?”

She rolled her eyes and spoke kindly to a confused old man.

“You do realize this is Waffle House, right?”

Told you!

No breakfast and I have the brain of a worm.