Last school year was the first one that both kids were in college at San Diego State. We moved to Kensington, close to college, so we’d be close by. Every Sunday at 10:00 we hosted a breakfast and the kids had a standing invitation. Often both were here, sometimes only one of them, and occasionally one or the other brought a friend.
The “tradition” lasted for only one year, since both kids are now waiters and generally they work the Sunday morning shifts in their respective restaurants. The kids are a year older, and I realize that my time with them is now very limited and hard to come by. The old song “Cat’s in the Cradle” is about this.
I recall the years when I “had the kids” on the weekends to give their mom a break. Those seemingly endless visits to the park or the playground, or up to Palomar Mountain for a picnic or hike, were precious jewels of time I was given. At the time I didn’t realize their preciousness. Now they are distant memories.
Even the regular Sunday Brunch at Dad’s is now a tradition of the past, lasting only a year, comprised of only a dozen or two actual events. I am grateful for every one of them.