Cooking scrambled eggs

This morning, my dad and me cooked breakfast together. At first I thought it looked pretty cool to make scrambled eggs with ham. I chopped up some ham with a sharp knife and that kind of scared me because I don't like sharp knives. After that, I cracked two eggs into a bowl with some milk and whisked them up. Daddy told me to turn on the stove. He told me to turn it on light and then on to low. When I turned it on to light it made a loud clicking noise and then foom. Flame burst out and almost hit my face. No wonder Dad told me not to put my face up against the flame.

After that, I got really scared and started crying a little. Then after I got the stove lit, I put the ham in and cooked it a little. I poured the whisked eggs and milk into the pan along with the ham. This is when things get tricky because you have to go really fast. You have to take the end of your spatula and push it all over the place to make sure the eggs get cooked evenly and to me it seemed a little hard. After the eggs were done, my job was to take the spatula and put them on a plate. I grabbed the fork, I washed it off, I brought my dishes to the table and I ate my scrambled eggs. They tasted pretty darn good. I didn't expect them to turn out so darn delicious.

After that, I had the job of cleaning up al-l-l-l-l-ll the dishes. After I was finished, I wiped my hands and clapped them together. Dad looked up from reading the newspaper and said, now that you can make scrambled eggs, you can make anything. I looked at him very doubtfully. And then we started this conversation about cooking food. And then I went on with the rest of my morning. I thought the experience of cooking scrambled eggs was pretty cool. But I don't think I want to do it again.