A tradition has been born. On Friday, SJ and I will partake in the 2nd PBF. You don’t know PBF – admit it. No surprise. I made it up. Hmm, maybe I need to get a patent because this is going to big.
Anyway, PBF stand for Pizza for Breakfast on Friday. I know – sounds great. By the way, I would like to clarify pizza is not the breakfast of choice for hung over college students only. No, we here in the MMK household proclaim pizza for breakfast the domain of all.
My morning routine has changed dramatically. Where once I rode the bus and subway with strangers (all the gory details here), now I’m at home with strangers.
That’s right I’m home with strangers. I don’t mean my family is strangers. While it’s true it’s been years since I saw my wife and children on a Tuesday morning at 8:00 a.m. in October, the change is not so dramatic that I don’t recognize them.
Never the less, there is a stranger in my house each morning. This guest is not at the front door. This guest is at kitchen table. Let me back up. Every weekday morning, I go to synagogue and pray. When I come home, I head to the kitchen table.
SJ sits in the same chair every day. He eats the same food (a bagel smeared with both cream cheese and cheese and a blueberry waffle) every day. He is the ultimate creature of habit. These days, I join him at the kitchen table and eat my breakfast.
Picture that. A dad and his son sharing quality time in the morning over the kitchen table. Isn’t that nice? Really, it’s Hallmark worthy.
If only, that was the case. Sigh.