The most memorable Christmas tradition in my family is waking up early to open presents in order to make it to my great grandfathers in time for breakfast. Although the mornings were early and the drive was long, we never missed a year. Pulling up to his humble home, sitting on his quaint farm, you could smell the bacon wafting from the house while standing on the driveway. The best part of the morning was walking through his squeaky side door, in which you would see the same sight year-after-year : grandpa standing in the kitchen, with his red apron, wearing a smile and flipping French toast. Great grandpa started this tradition well before I was born. My father remembers grandpa cooking Christmas breakfast when he was only a teenager, as seen in the picture above. I always assumed it had been great grandpa that had trained my father on how to make the perfect French toast.