I was exploring the Boston Seaport with my daughter. We had already walked a few miles when we ran into a local bakery to stop and get a snack and drink before we continued exploring.
It was a cool morning, so she decided to get a hot chocolate. I would usually just do an iced coffee black, but the special of the day was a strawberry lemonade matcha refresher. So, I decided to try something different.
We shared a slice of Boston Crème Pie on a little table outside of the bakery.
We were joking around and not really talking about much of anything until she made a comment that struck me as poetic. I don’t remember the comment she made, but I remember being curious about her intention.
I asked if she knew what a simile is.
She took a moment and replied without confidence, “something using like or -“
“A comparison between two things using like or as.” I realized I had helped her along unnecessarily.
“We’ve been learning about poetry in school.”
“Oh yeah, what have you learned?”
“About similes, metaphors, and rhythm -“
In the heat of conversation and my burning curiosity I asked the next question, “Do you know what a metaphor is?”
“Uhhh no.” Probably caught off guard at how I interrupted her original thought.
“It’s like when you assign a deeper meaning to an object in a poem or story.”
“Ooooh yeah, we learned about that.”
“Like this strawberry lemonade matcha refresher.”
She responded with a silent look of confusion as if she were a teenager.
I had her take a sip and then asked her, “Can you describe the flavors in the drink?”
“Umm I don’t know.”
“Oh c’mon, is strawberry sweet?”
“Yeah.”
“What about lemonade?”
“Sour.”
“And matcha?”
She had no description which made me question whether she even knew what matcha was. “Matcha is kind of bitter.”
“Ah, ok.” She wondered where I was going with it.
“Well, here’s an example. We are going to write a story together.” I said playfully.
She laughed with me.
“Well, think back to the Children’s Museum we just left. Would you say you were too old for it now?”
“Yeah.” She was careful to not hurt my feelings.
“How do you think that made me feel?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’d describe it as bitter sweet. Kind of like this strawberry lemonade matcha refresher.”
She giggled.
“On one hand, I get to watch my daughter grow up and become an amazing human being. On the other, she’s no longer a baby.”
She smiled at me that let me know she appreciated what I had to say.
“But you’ll always be MY baby.” I smiled back.
She laughed.
“So, in some ways, I will always remember the bittersweet taste of this strawberry lemonade refresher and the feeling I had when I was sitting down to enjoy a Boston Crème Pie with my daughter who made me painfully aware that she is no longer a small child.”
“No you wont!”
“Yes I will! I will be 85 years old remembering back to this cold morning wishing I got to relive this moment with you again.” I took a sip as we sat with those words.
It was a moment that could have easily passed us by, but some advice that I was given many years ago echoed through me. “When you feel like you are overflowing with love, you need to find someone or something to pour into.”
I wondered if her cup will ever get too full.
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