The Perfect Egg

Spring 2026, FORUM Magazine

HE TRIED REALLY HARD that last Christmas. Christmas was always a big deal to my dad.

I know that better now that I've inherited the family photos. I found a folder with pictures from his childhood. Christmas morning after Christmas morning. Tinsel, presents, tables full of food, and lots of family. His parents worked hard to make it feel special. He did the same for us.

Growing up, holidays at our house felt big. Whole prime ribs, neighbors, family, friends, anyone who needed somewhere to be. One Easter morning, I woke up to giant bunny footprints leading to our front door. Years later, I learned he cut a stencil and dusted flour over it. That was my dad. He loved making you wonder.

By Christmas of 2025, he was tired. The cancer treatments had taken a lot out of him. Radiation. Chemotherapy. Work.

That year, we were celebrating at my girlfriend's house. Her mom and sibling were coming. My mom, sister, niece, and nephew were coming too. It was the first time all of us would spend a holiday together. I really wanted my dad to be there. He wanted to be there too.

At first, he told me he might not come. Then he said he could stop by for a little while. Then he stayed all night. He showed up with boxes of wrapped gifts. Every gift came with a story.

One gift sticks with me. We all opened it at the same time. It was a little silicone circle with a handle sticking off the side. We turned it over in our hands. Nobody knew what it was. My dad was trying so hard not to laugh. "Any guesses?" he asked.

That was one of his favorite things. He never rushed to the answer. He liked giving you just enough information to find your own way there. We guessed for a while. Flashlight holder. Cup holder. A giant keychain. Nobody was close. Finally, he told us.

It was a mold for cooking the perfect fried egg for breakfast sandwiches.

We all laughed. Then he handed each of us a carton of eggs, English muffins, American cheese, and Canadian bacon.

He knew exactly what would happen. We would make breakfast sandwiches. We'd joke about whose egg looked the best. And we'd sit around the table a little longer than usual.

He wasn't giving us egg molds. He was giving us a reason to be together. My dad did that his whole life. He gave me speakers and records so I could dance with my friends. He gave me outdoor propane heaters so we could stay out when the sun went down. He gave me boardgames and endless trivia games for family dinners. He was never just giving people things. He was giving us reasons to stay.

The egg molds are in my kitchen now. Every so often, I pull one out, crack an egg into it, and make a breakfast sandwich with someone I love.

Then we sit around the table a little longer than usual. ■

Quinn Christopherson (2026 FORUM Storytelling Fellow) is an Ahtna and Inupiaq songwriter from Anchorage, Alaska. He won NPR’s Tiny Desk Contest in 2019 and has since toured across the U.S. and Canada. His debut album, Write Your Name in Pink (2022), blends honest storytelling with bold sound. Most recently, Quinn co-wrote Portugal. The Man’s song “Denali.”