Thursday, June 11, 2009


He never said a word. He just opened the glass door and stood back solemnly, while his mother reached in, took two scones from the tray, and dropped them in the bag he held open. She smiled and said, "Thank you, dear, that's a good helper." They turned and walked away, exiting my presence as casually as they'd entered it.

I watched this little episode unfold from inches away. I was about to reach for the same door when they approached and seeing his intention, withdrew my hand politely and waited. He was about four or five, with blond hair and his mother struck me as calm and deliberate. She took him as seriously as he took his task and the tone of her voice revealed it. I was in awe of them both.

Seconds later, when I'd finally managed to stir myself out of my reverie, I claimed my two scones -- a chocolate and maple walnut -- and wandered away. I couldn't help but wonder about their husband and father, hoping he knew just how lucky he was. Surely he must. How could he not? For the briefest of moments his greatest treasures had been a part of my life, and I was grateful.
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