He slid into a corner booth and ordered a burger and fries, like he wasn’t expecting anything different. But I had something in my apron pocket that said otherwise.
I waited until he was halfway through his meal, then approached him slowly, nervously twisting the hem of my apron in one hand.
“Hey,” I said quietly.
He looked up and smiled. “Hey.”
“My son Ben asked me to give you this.”
I placed the small, folded piece of paper on the table and took a step back. He looked puzzled for a second, then picked it up and unfolded it carefully as if it were something fragile. Sacred.
Crayon. Wobbly letters. Child handwriting.
Inside, it read: “I want to be you when I grow up.”
And under the words, a drawing of stick figures, but instantly recognizable. A little boy holding hands with a tall police officer. Daniel stared at it for a long time. He didn’t speak or blink, and his jaw twitched like he was trying not to get choked up.
Finally, he whispered, “Your son… he’s amazing.”
“He thinks the world of you,” I said softly.
Only God knows what came over me as I added, “And so do I.”
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