Almost Too Late For Breakfast

I've had a few requests lately for this post. It's an old one that people have heard about and had a hard time finding, so I'm re-posting it for your convenience. I'm glad I made it for this breakfast.



I have a teenage daughter who is a thing of beauty. The oldest of my three children, she’s fifteen years old next week. I was changing diapers on this woman-child only a few weeks ago. She took her first steps and then started Kindergarten last week. Yesterday she was a middle-schooler with braces and here, today, she is a leggy, hippy, mascara-ed high-schooler . The great torment and mystery and wonder of being a dad is how quickly fifteen trips around the sun pass me by.



Today the Oldest Sister had the morning off from school. I knew about it last week so I cleared my calendar and made an appointment with her.



“Where do you want to go for breakfast?” I asked her.




“The New York Bagel!” she answered with no hesitation.




The New York Bagel is an institution in Southwest Houston. You can get two eggs, a bagel, and hash browns for $3.50 and you can watch the neighborhood Jews play their stereotypes. Joe, one of the owners, works the crowd while sassy waitresses in short-shorts work the coffee pots. His wet lips smile through his bushy beard as he charms you despite his Bronx accent. I was pleased that she chose it.




She didn’t pick the chain (IHOP), she didn’t pick the trendy (La’Madeleine’s). She picked the place with character and it made me proud. We both ordered the special, I had coffee and she had OJ. The conversation ebbed and flowed with an easy rhythm. I watched her baby blues flash with joy as a girl friend from her high school showed up with her dad. He and I exchanged the knowing glance of fathers courting the affections of teenage daughters, hoping to woo a few words of connection from them.




As the Oldest Sister and I ate I got a few of those precious words from her. We talked about a boyfriend, her school work, her dance team. We talked about a book she’s reading for geography class, and I told her about a David Sedaris book I just finished. We even talked about the meaning of orthodoxy when I told her about the book A Generous Orthodoxy that I’m reading now. She acted interested, in fact she might have really been so.




Though the conversation was uninteresting to most, it was more precious to me than all the praises that come to one who occupies the pulpit. She gave me the same smile I saw when I was changing her diapers, and for a precious three cups of coffee she was still my little girl.




Reflecting on the day I’m left with this thought: I have three and a half more trips around the sun before the Oldest Sister leaves the home and if they go as fast as the first fifteen, then I was almost too late for breakfast today.