Cooking Breakfast with My Son

This morning my son, his first official day of spring break, cooked himself breakfast as I began my day, rising from the couch. He opened the doors and windows to the warm spring morning as he grilled his steak and jammed to a playlist of his favorite house music.

If you asked me, I'd tell you that I hate house music - that the thumping beats are too much for my head. (The volume at which the music is played may have something to do with it.)

So I groaned inside when I heard the opening bars of the playlist.

But then a song came on that I remembered from my own high school days, and my heart lifted. As I sang along with the lyrics my son asked, surprised, "You know this song?" Soon we were dancing and singing together, joy pouring through our bodies, dripping off our fingertips.

In two months my son will be a high school graduate, living in another country, off and pursuing his dreams. I know I will remember and treasure this day, a simple morning making breakfast, singing in the kitchen, opening to the bittersweet of the moment, and the missing that is to come as he leaves home.

You can listen to the song here.

Cooking Breakfast with My Son

You said you hated house music
but this morning your son blasts
a thumping tune as he toasts his bread
and opens a ripe avocado. You hear a song
you recognize – one your stereo played
when you were eighteen – and soon
you're singing along with him, dancing
in the kitchen. Your heart soars, a kite
of joy on the pulsing beat as the birds
chirp hello and he offers a bite
of breakfast. And you wonder –
how could I have hated this?
How could I have forgotten
the delight that awaits
when I open my heart
to what I thought I'd hated
and say yes, yes?

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With a grateful heart, Karly