Please and Thank You

“Do you want water or milk?”  The boys needed socialization, and I began manners practice every day at breakfast.

Ian remained silent and stared at the floor.

“I’m sorry, but was that water or milk?”

He gave a surly grunt.  “Milk.”

“May I have milk, please?”  He wasn’t getting off that easy.

He sighed, but recognized the brick wall.  “May I have milk, please?”

I flashed my warmest smile.  “Of course.  Why didn’t you ask?”

They finished their breakfast as if I’d said nothing, but I continued.  Day after day, meal after meal, request after request.  I worked with the patience of a water drip that drills a hole through granite.

One day, their test came, unannounced like a pop quiz.  Sandi stayed home to sleep after she’d worked overnight, and I alone took the boys to church.  After the service, we were in the church basement for coffee and snacks, and I had to leave them for a moment.

“Be good.”  I looked both in the eye.  “And mind your manners.  I’ll be right back.”

When I returned, I stopped at the door to listen for a moment.

“Holly?”  I recognized the clear alto as James.  “May I have some more cinnamon roll, please?”My eyebrows rose and a smile grew on my face.

“May I have some peanut butter and jelly, please?”  These halting words came from Ian, each one crafted and inspected on his palate before they left his lips.

My smile spread to a grin.  They’d been listening after all.

The next morning at breakfast, I continued the ritual, sure of the outcome.  “Ian, do you want water or milk?”

“Milk.”

What?  He’d said it so perfectly the day before!  My shoulders slumped, but I kept the weariness from my voice.  “May I have milk, please?”

William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.