A couple of nights ago I spilt milk over the brim of my glass onto the counter. Just little bit.
As I took the dish cloth and wiped the base of my glass and counter top a memory from my childhood surfaced.
Two of my brothers and I were eating dinner with my father at his apartment. Just as my youngest brother was lifting a glass of milk to his mouth there was a very brief blackout. Perhaps twenty seconds.
When the lights came on again we all saw he had spilled milk down his cheek and onto his shirt. My father asked, “What happened?” in that dad tone of very slightly dismayed mild annoyance.
Ian innocently replied, “I missed my mouth.”
“How could you miss your mouth!?” Dad erupted. Laughter erupted from the three of us. And then from Dad.
While this memory played across my mind it occurred to me, rinsing out the dish cloth, that I’m the only one left alive with memories of that moment.