Sunday, April 26, 2015

Sunday breakfast at Mickey Dee's

At McDonald's this morning for Sunday breakfast. Maty is working today, so I'm on my own and I really want to write. I need to start writing regularly again.

I've found, believe it or not, that sitting in this environment, taking advantage of the Mickey Dee's wifi, drinking coffee is helpful. The clientele at McDonald's is my community. There is much inspiration in sitting amid one's community, watching and listening.

At the table next to mine, a happy family sits and plans their day. The mother sits with her back to me. She's wearing her jacket. Feeling chilly, apparently. I can see that she is a proud woman, content with her lot in life. I can see this by the set of her shoulders and the neat cut of her well-combed hair. It is pretty hair and it is the color of carrots fresh from the ground. As I watch her she gets up from the table and turns and our eyes meet. She smiles and I smile back. Across from where she was sitting is her husband. A man about my age, maybe a few years younger. He's dressed in a gray hoodie and sports three-day salt-and-pepper stubble. His face has not known a razor this weekend. He sits back against the bench cushion, amiable and relaxed. His arm is draped across the back of the bench. Next to him sits the boy. He's about thirteen and he's a good-looking kid. Tall and thin, with an open face and a full rack of braces on his teeth. All the bloom of youth is about him and it is apparent that he is the source of the joy, the good vibes that emanate from their table. When Mom returns they joke with each other and talk about plans for the day to come, the month to come, the year to come.

A Mexican family, a father and two sons, sit at the small table near the window. The father is in his thirties, dressed in workman's jeans and sweater. A key ring jangles from his belt. His older son is paraplegic, in a motorized wheel chair. Maybe 12 years old. He has a big awkward head and a skinny body. He smiles and laughs. Beside him is his little brother, about 7 years old, with wide dark eyes, and a solemn expression. The young one seems wise, as if, at this tender age, he is aware that there is much to learn. All three of them have cocoa skin and a shocks of unruly black hair . The father's moustache is also black. They munch their food and chatter in Spanish, the boys asking questions of their father and he answering around mouthfuls.

These two families make a pleasing and beautiful sight. As I watch them, discreetly and without revealing myself, I realize that I want things to turn out well for them. Overcome by a sudden rush of brotherly affection, I realize that I love them.

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