A silly ol’ grilled cheese sandwich. That’s all it took to trigger all of the lasts of my son’s senior year.
He’s seventeen and, after work and practice he was sitting in his room gaming with his friends. I knocked and opened his door and waited for him to turn off his microphone. (This has been a new thing to get used to. No going into his room and immediately beginning to talk. No. The mike on his headset will pick it up and heaven forbid, all of his friends will hear me telling him that his room stinks like athletic socks and to please throw away all of the fast food trash.)
When I was free to speak, I asked, “Do you need anything to eat?”
He is perfectly capable of preparing his own meals and does so quite often. But, every once in a while, when I know he’s had a long day, I will offer.
“Can I have a grilled cheese?” he asked.