“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.