When I was growing up, the first things I learned to cook were eggs, specifically omelets. I'd get a bowl and break one egg for each person plus "one for the pan"; pour in some milk and then go to the spice rack to season. We used butter or margarine in a heavy black skillet - no stick-free pans back then - over our gas stove; to this day, I dislike electric stoves, for it's harder to regulate the temperature.
Part of the art of cooking the omelet was to figure out which spices worked and in what amounts, and I was given pretty much free reign. There was a lot of trial and error in the process. Cinnamon, e.g., just didn't work for me. Generally, I ended up using pepper, garlic salt, onion flakes, a touch of dried mustard. Also a little Worcestershire sauce and occasionally, a touch of Tabasco. Sometimes, grated cheese, usually sharp cheddar. Eventually, I learned the wonders of sauteed mushrooms and onions. As a single adult, when I had to bring food to parties, for years it was deviled eggs. First thing, one needed to know how to crack open the egg so that the albumen wasn't carried off on the shell. While running cold water on the egg, crack both ends of the egg, flatter end first. Last time I tried this, it worked almost every time. Then figuring out the right amount of mayo (never that Miracle Whip stuff), mustard and pepper. Always paprika for color.
When my wife was pregnant with our daughter, we were using something called the Bradley method, which involved exercise, diet and a way of empowering parents before the event. One tenet in the diet for the prospective mom: "Every day of the week you and your baby should have two eggs (hard boiled, in french toast, or added to other foods)." Initially my wife found this incredibly onerous, because she glommed onto the two eggs part without noting the parenthetical aside. I'm not saying it was the eggs, but she had a near-perfect delivery of Lydia.