The men’s breakfast. I am here with twelve unsupervised elderly men. Baptist men who all tuck their shirts into pressed slacks.
Baptist men always wear tucked-in shirts with pressed slacks. Even when they go swimming.
I give Baptists a hard time because I descend from them. But they are magnificent people, with kind hearts, tender spirits, and they know all the words to the fourth verse of “Amazing Grace.”
I’m here today because Larry invited me.
“This is Sean,” Larry announces to the group.
Many of these men are hard of hearing. One man calls me “Shane” when he shakes my hand—which is a common mistake. Another man calls me “John”—also a common mistake. And one man with two hearing aids pumps my hand and says, “Thanks for coming today, Dominick.”
A waitress takes our orders. One man orders fruit and oatmeal. Another orders pancakes. The man next to me, Ron, orders a double meat breakfast with extra bacon and cheese grits.
“My wife has me on a diet,” Ron
explains.
I order eggs over medium, toast, and coffee.
When food arrives, no man touches his plate. Larry, rises to his feet and asks for prayer requests.
One man asks for prayer regarding kidney stones.
Men offer their condolences.
Another man asks, “Would y’all remember my son, today? He’s gonna be starting a new job, he deserves to be happy. We love him so much.”
And one old man removes his ball cap. The man has a gentle smile. He glances at his lap and says, “Please pray for my dog, he’s finally old enough for us to tell him he’s adopted.”
A mushroom cloud of laughs.
You have to love Baptists.
Another man speaks up: “I don’t have anything to pray for. I’m just filled to the brim with thanks.”
“Me too.”
“Here,…