JUNE 2018 - My boy came home for a way-too-brief, 36-hour, post-Father's Day visit this week. He stopped in on his way to a week at the beach with his buddies. We took advantage of his stopover to enjoy one last breakfast at the Chick-fil-a Dwarf House.
This is our place.
Ethan and I started coming here nearly 10 years ago. I decided that I would commit to having breakfast with Ethan every Saturday morning between his 12th and 13th birthdays. Most of those breakfasts were at Chick-fil-a.
The idea was to speak into his life for a year, preparing him for the transition from boy to man. On his 13th birthday, several men from my church joined us for a cookout and ceremony I designed specifically with Ethan in mind. Each man wrote Ethan a letter, challenging him about such topics as purity, friendship, leadership, integrity, financial stewardship, etc. And, at the end of the ceremony, they gifted him with a very nice shotgun. It was incredible.
The Saturday after he turned 13, I considered our commitment complete. He did not. In fact, he woke me up that morning, standing over my bed, several inches taller than he had been 365 days earlier and asked me when we were going to breakfast.
We continued our Saturday tradition until I left him behind in Nashville for his freshman year of college. It was one of the saddest days of my life. I even wrote a blog post about it, The Last Breakfast. Since then, if Ethan is in town on a Saturday, breakfast is on me at the Chick-fil-a Dwarf House. When I found out it was closing, I called him and told him we had one last chance. My boy drove from Nashville Tuesday night after work so that we could get up Wednesday morning and enjoy one final breakfast together. It. Was. Awesome.
We talked, as we have over the past 10 years, about life and spiritual matters. We laughed, talked with one of his elementary school teachers (an unintended, but regular occurrence at the Dwarf House), and redeemed the time, as the Apostle Paul would say.
We're not guaranteed these moments. He'll be 22 in a couple of months. He's a senior in college. Who knows where his journey will take him next? Our Dwarf House breakfast was not the time to think about those things. This was the time to relax, enjoy, savor and invest. I started to ask for a commemorative t-shirt. I think I saw a few behind the counter, but I didn't. Instead, I asked for a photo to capture the moment. He obliged.
This is not the last breakfast for us. We may have to move to Bojangles for the next couple of breakfasts, but come December or January when the new edition of the Chick-fil-a Dwarf House opens in our town, you can bet we'll be there. It may not be the first Saturday the new place opens, but you can bet that if my boy is in town, especially if he's home on a Saturday, we'll be standing in line, waiting for a seat, keeping our long-standing appointment and making new memories.
So, I guess this isn't goodbye after all, Dwarf House. The manager said he's keeping the iconic little red door that marked the front entrance. I reckon this is, "See you later." Let's just make sure the biscuits are hot, the egg and cheese are scrambled to perfection and there's a seat somewhere for me and my boy.
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