A young man has returned home during spring break, when he
wakes to the smell of breakfast cooking. He pads through the house and finds
his mother in the kitchen with a big smile on her face. She is wearing a long
sweater over her nightgown, preoccupied with flipping bacon. “Good morning mama,”
he says, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Then he pours himself a hot cup of coffee
and strolls outside onto the front porch.
On the porch, he sees his father seated in a rocking chair
with a half filled mug of still steaming coffee. “Good morning papa,” he
says.
“Mornin’ son,” says the old man. He is wearing a large green
ball-cap with the unbent brim halfway down on his head. Tufts of unruly, white
hair spit out at his temples. White speckles of stubble adorn his chin. He
wears a red and yellow, flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up at the elbows,
underneath a pair of faded blue coveralls with grass stains on the knees.
The young man sits down on the porch swing and crosses his
legs. He takes a sip from his coffee and then sets it on the top leg. “Papa,
you seem relaxed,” he says. “Is there anything I could do to help?”
The father shakes his head, no. “The fields are tended. The
animals are fed. All the chores for the day are done. You might as well just
enjoy your time off before you head back to the university.”
The son takes another sip of his coffee, and then stares at
his father. “Papa, I’ve been home almost a week. Everyday when I come
downstairs, mama is in the kitchen with a big smile on her face cooking, while
you’re out here on the porch drinking coffee. How is it that you manage to get
so much done without ever seeming to work hard?”
With a sly grin the father answers, “I just wait ‘til after sun-up
before I touch that little blue pill.”
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