I’m on Spring Break this week. This sweet memory, about my grandson making me breakfast, is a touchstone for me - a reminder that for all the hassles that accompany aging, there are occasions of sublime serendipity. Too special not to share.
Dear Friends,
“I’m making you breakfast tomorrow, Gran,” announced my then nine-year-old grandson, Charlie, during my visit.
He dismissed my protestations that there might not be enough time before school. “Don’t worry,” he said, ”I get up very early. What would you like? We have Cheerios, Rice Crispies, or Multigrain Shapes. We have yogurt. Or I can make toast. And I can make tea.”
I chose toast, with tea as the accompaniment. Charlie’s parents don’t make coffee at home, since they have a wealth of coffee options in their urban neighborhood
He assured me breakfast would be ready by 7 a.m., long before the school departure at eight.
And so it was. I came to the kitchen table to find two slices of toast, butter layered at their centers, and topped with a generous serving of strawberry jam. The perimeter of the toast was barren, no doubt due to the difficulty of spreading butter straight out of the fridge.
The toast and jam assemblage, accompanied by a bit of melon saved from his own breakfast earlier, was a cheery welcome to a new day. Charlie thoughtfully chose the “I heart N.Y.” mug for the tea, a nod to my hometown.
A hovering, attentive host, he was concerned that the service meet his guest’s expectations. He preemptively addressed a potential shortcoming: the tea.
“I’m not allowed to boil water,” he said, “But it’s really hot.”
It was as hot as tap water can get.
He placed a box of sugar cubes and a small cup for the discarded tea bag on the table. I declined his offer of milk.
“It was a delicious breakfast, Charlie,” I said, finishing up the toast and tea. I was touched by his effort and impressed by his flawless execution.
Charlie’s making breakfast was more than showing off his culinary talents. It was a demonstration of his caring and his pride in turning the tables from recipient to provider. An intergenerational role reversal. I didn’t feel “old.” I felt loved. Living in my 4th quarter, it felt really, really good.
Lukewarm tea never tasted better.
Wishing you the best of (hot) tea and toast this week,
Jane
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