So, C and M were playing outside today. I hear a resounding yell of “snack time!” from outside and glance at the clock. C comes running in, “dad! Can we have some snacks?”

“Actually, buddy, it’s lunchtime,” I reply, “give me a minute and I’ll make some sandwiches.”

C walks out of the dining room and I start hearing noises from the kitchen. M comes inside, announces he is not hungry, but wants a snack. More noises, now coming from the refrigerator. “What are you doing out there?” I yell.

“Making a sandwich!” comes the reply. I glance over my shoulder and see C on a stool, sandwich trappings set up on the counter in front of him. Okay, I think. “I’m making one for M too!”

“Okay,” I say, “that’s very nice.” I am impressed. Lately C has been showing some responsibilities around the house. Nothing major, but making lunches, bringing in the trash cans, doing dishes, etc. He seems to be taking to helping his brother out too.

“I’m making one for you too!” he yells to me. Wow, this has only happened once before. I don’t really want PBJ, but that is his speciality (i.e. all he makes) and I won’t complain. “M!” he yells “your sandwich is ready!”

There is some clanking and the sound of more silverware coming out. A plate scrapes on the counter, the peanut butter gets put down and then… “Oh.” I hear, very quietly.

I am typing out an email, so I call over my shoulder, “what’s up buddy?” The reply comes back, “Daddy? Do you like a lot of jelly on your sandwich?” I don’t look up, C is known for his jelly sandwiches, so I just call back, “not really, buddy, more PB than J.”

“Oh.” is the response. Again very muted, somewhat concerned.

This is what greeted me as I got into the kitchen.


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