|Mark and some of his family. Feeding the next generation . . .|
It only ever happened once.
But I’ll remember it forever.
Maybe I should explain . . .
My Husby and I raised six children.
Four of them, sons.
They are, all of them, tall people.
Ranging in height from just under six feet to six foot, eight inches.
They were, all of them, big eaters.
And that’s where my story starts.
My oldest boy, Mark, ate like a bird. And by that, I mean he consumed his weight in food every. Single. Day.
His next brother, Erik, wasn’t far behind.
We used to joke that we simply gave each of them a trough and a shovel.
And watched the food magically disappear.
The two of them easily ate as much as the rest of the family combined.
In fact, when Mark moved out, our food bill was cut in half.
When Erik moved out, ditto.
But back to that day . . .
It was a coupon day at the local McD’s. Two-for-one.
My Husby (a coupon collector extraordinaire) had managed to hoard a mittful of the colourful, valuable bits of paper.
We loaded the kids into the car for a rare, but fun, family treat.
And we were off.
Feeling distinctly magnanimous, we told the kids to order what they liked.
And Mark did.
His order? Four Big Macs. Two large orders of fries. Two large drinks. And four apple pies.
Did he eat them?
And, swallowing the last bite of apple pie, he turned to me and said something I’d never heard.
Before or since.
I stared at him. Had I heard correctly?
He nodded and patted his stomach.
Who says miracles no longer happen?!
There is a little addendum:
As we were leaving the restaurant, I had linked arms with each of my tall eldest sons. We were laughing about something that one of them said. Full and happy.
A woman seated near the doors looked up and smiled. “I just love seeing brothers and sisters such good friends!” she said. “It’s inspiring!”
We smiled back and thanked her, not bothering to explain that one of those ‘siblings’ was, in fact, the mom.
A good day on so many levels.