jlm110108
06-17-2007, 01:07 PM
It was still dark when Alan opened his eyes. He glanced at his alarm clock. It was almost five A.M. Sunday, June 17, Father's Day. He heard voices downstairs. Don and Charlie had been working on a case when he went to bed. They didn't say much about it to him, but he could tell from their expressions that it was serious. And he caught the sense of urgency as they pushed each other to work harder and faster. They had obviously worked through the night.
He sighed. Now that his boys were grown, Father's Day didn't have the magic it did when they were little. He remembered little Donnie, struggling to carry a breakfast tray into the bedroom, followed by Charlie, carrying napkins and silverware, and Margaret, carrying the coffee pot. The cereal was always soggy, and sloshed out of the bowl onto the tray. Margaret told him she had always offered to make breakfast, but the boys had insisted on doing it themselves.
But those breakfasts were just perfect. One boy on each side, high squeaky voices asking him over and over again if everything was okay, and could they get him anything else. Today would be a lot quieter. The boys would probably be asleep by the time he got downstairs. They certainly wouldn't realize what day it was. For them, the whole week had run together into one long day.
He smiled. He'd make coffee for them. And waffles. They hadn't had waffles in a long time. There was a quart of strawberries in the fridge, at the perfect point of sweet ripeness. His mouth started to water, and he knew he would never get back to sleep. Maybe the boys would like breakfast before they went to bed.
He stretched, and walked to the bathroom. He smelled coffee. Of course, the boys would need caffeine to keep them going. They were a little old for all-nighters. After he dressed and started downstairs, he caught the scent of something else. Bagels? They were still talking, but now the voices were coming from the kitchen. Perfect. Maybe they had finally finished their case. They could use a breakfast break.
He had expected to see the dining room table strewn with papers, files, gory photographs, but he was surprised. It was cleared. Three places were set. And there were flowers in one of Margaret's favorite vases.
The kitchen door swung open, and Charlie backed out of the kitchen, carrying something that Alan couldn't see. “Come on, Don! He'll be up any time now...” Charlie turned and let the door swing shut, cutting off Don's reply. He jumped when he saw Alan, nearly dropping a pitcher of orange juice and a pot of steaming coffee. “Dad!”
The door swung open again. “Chuck! I need a hand with these waffles. Dad?!”
“Good morning, boys,” Alan said, grinning broadly. “You remembered!”
Don grinned. “Of course we remembered.” He came into the dining room as Charlie put the coffee and juice on the table. “But I hope you're not disappointed. We made waffles instead of cereal.”
Alan grabbed his sons and pulled them into an embrace. “I'm not disappointed at all. The cereal was always soggy anyway.”
Author's Note: It's a little late for breakfast, but give your father a hug today!
He sighed. Now that his boys were grown, Father's Day didn't have the magic it did when they were little. He remembered little Donnie, struggling to carry a breakfast tray into the bedroom, followed by Charlie, carrying napkins and silverware, and Margaret, carrying the coffee pot. The cereal was always soggy, and sloshed out of the bowl onto the tray. Margaret told him she had always offered to make breakfast, but the boys had insisted on doing it themselves.
But those breakfasts were just perfect. One boy on each side, high squeaky voices asking him over and over again if everything was okay, and could they get him anything else. Today would be a lot quieter. The boys would probably be asleep by the time he got downstairs. They certainly wouldn't realize what day it was. For them, the whole week had run together into one long day.
He smiled. He'd make coffee for them. And waffles. They hadn't had waffles in a long time. There was a quart of strawberries in the fridge, at the perfect point of sweet ripeness. His mouth started to water, and he knew he would never get back to sleep. Maybe the boys would like breakfast before they went to bed.
He stretched, and walked to the bathroom. He smelled coffee. Of course, the boys would need caffeine to keep them going. They were a little old for all-nighters. After he dressed and started downstairs, he caught the scent of something else. Bagels? They were still talking, but now the voices were coming from the kitchen. Perfect. Maybe they had finally finished their case. They could use a breakfast break.
He had expected to see the dining room table strewn with papers, files, gory photographs, but he was surprised. It was cleared. Three places were set. And there were flowers in one of Margaret's favorite vases.
The kitchen door swung open, and Charlie backed out of the kitchen, carrying something that Alan couldn't see. “Come on, Don! He'll be up any time now...” Charlie turned and let the door swing shut, cutting off Don's reply. He jumped when he saw Alan, nearly dropping a pitcher of orange juice and a pot of steaming coffee. “Dad!”
The door swung open again. “Chuck! I need a hand with these waffles. Dad?!”
“Good morning, boys,” Alan said, grinning broadly. “You remembered!”
Don grinned. “Of course we remembered.” He came into the dining room as Charlie put the coffee and juice on the table. “But I hope you're not disappointed. We made waffles instead of cereal.”
Alan grabbed his sons and pulled them into an embrace. “I'm not disappointed at all. The cereal was always soggy anyway.”
Author's Note: It's a little late for breakfast, but give your father a hug today!