Hot Chocolate

As painful as the first sip of coffee,

the thought of the future burns my mind.

My little boy’s coffee mug,

hot chocolate staining the rim,

is a grim reminder of his evolving youth.

I can already see him:

rushing;

confused; and

wallowing due to his failures.

 

“Daddy, can I have coffee with you?”

 

I make his cup of hot chocolate

and we have a seat at the table.

 

“Don’t grow up. Okay, buddy?”

 

Chocolate stains his lip and he smiles.

“I don’t like coffee. So, I won’t grow up.”