Breakfast for Dragons

Upon walking in, I took notice of all the elderly couples eating their breakfast at the tiny tables. Their white hair and shaking fingers attempting to open the package of plastic silverware. No other children aside from Abby were to be found. After that, my attention then turned to the cinnamon rolls featured on the menu.

This morning was a treat, and my dad prodded me to order whatever I wanted. Pancakes and milk for Abby. Orange juice, sausage biscuit, and two of the cinnamon rolls.

Abby and I went to find a place to sit, but not until I made sure my 78 year old father didn’t need any additional help. The life he’s lived I’m sure I don’t know even half of. We found our spot and settled in, waving my dad over when I noticed him searching. The tray with our breakfast assortment wobbling with his uneven gait towards our direction.

He’s a great dad, their grandfather. A good man. This past year, he’s stepped in when others haven’t. And unfortunately, his age is catching up to him.

We spread out our morning meal and I went about cutting my daughter’s pancake into small bites. It’s very rare for my dad to go anywhere with us without my mom. But she wasn’t feeling well that morning. Her age, though a decade younger, catching up with her, as well. I looked over at him as he opened the lid to his coffee, bringing the full cup to his lips with both hands.

My dad, my daughter, and I. And my daughter’s dragon.

A dragon that tried to eat my cinnamon roll. I’m glad I ordered two.

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