Egg pies will always be special to me. My father would always bring home a box of egg pies sold at the bakery at the street corner from where we lived when I was five years old. Every night, after dinner, Mother and I would eagerly wait in the living room until his footsteps stopped outside the front door. Then I would gleefully run to open it and jump into his arms but not after making sure he had the goods. One time he came home empty handed and was so remorseful upon seeing my disappointment that he left and went back to the bakery. It was his way of saying how much he loved me.