Ice-cold diner milk
When I was a little boy I would sit at the counter in my grandfather’s diner and spin around on a stool top. I would drink a glass of ice-cold white milk. The cold would punish my teeth and I would swell with joy.
Our six-year old son did that yesterday when we went for breakfast and he didn’t even know what it meant.
When the world gives us glimpses into who we once were, what does it mean? I am always caught unawares. It’s a nice symmetry, to see echoes of yourself, and it’s a second chance, knowing that your blood is mixed in with another’s and rushing off innocent into the world.