No Free Lunch, But Breakfast. . .

Well, is there really such a thing?

A    FREE    LUNCH

Weren’t we all told that as we were growing up,

but maybe not growing 

as quickly as the Some O   N   E

who told us to “GROW UP?”

“T H E R E ‘ S   N O   F R E E   L U N C H  , K I D D O!”

Probably true.        .        .

but what about a  F R E E    B R E A K F A S T?

I’ve known Hank for about six years;

Hmmmmm.        .        .know him?

I know his name is Hank.

 I know that he meets for Breakfast Monday through Friday

at a Bob Evan’s with three other of his buddies.       .       .

 I know that he likes the same waitress, Jody,

as about 6 other of us and we all sit in the same spots.         .         .

I know that he had recently lost  a lot of weight

that he never really had to lose.         .       .

I know that he doesn’t eat much any more;

a cup of coffee and dry toast.       .       .

 I know that he has cancer.

I know that he’s on Chemo.

I know there’s no free lunch,

but breakfast.          .          .

We all take turns including his coffee and dry toast into our bills

ever since Jody stopped charging him;

He makes jokes about not getting a free lunch,

but breakfast is another matter

and his favorite meal, too.         .         .

I’ve been thinking about Hank more than just the Tuesday’s I include his $1.79 into my bill.        .        .

I’ve been thinking

T              H              A              T   

 is the only thing Hank gets for free;

He talks about his kids taking turns bringing him in for his treatments.

He speaks of his neighbors bringing over dinner several times a week.

He shares about how nephews take turns cutting his grass or shoveling the snow from his driveway.

What’s he ever pay for?

Nothing?

Well, not so much from his wallet,

maybe.           .           .

Hank gives great smiles

Hank gives warm hugs

Hank gives firm handshakes

Hank gives simple

H               O               P               E

just by showing up every day;

“I don’t know if I’ll see my next birthday in January,” he raspily says.

“And.       .       .       ,” I offer up.

“And.         .         .

that just means I’ll treat everyday like a Birthday,” he laughs.

“Besides  with  all  of  you, it’s  kind  of  hard  not  to  see  it  any  other  way.”

“Who knows how my story will end,”

he offers with a shrug of his shoulders and his arms stretched out, palms up?

Who indeed.            .            .

But I kind of like how

Hank’s story has now become a part of the pages

of my own story without his ink,

pen or pages;

just his gentle,

indelible impression.

He becomes even more iconic

n        o        w.          .          .

Hank died a few weeks ago

and meals will no longer take on the meaning for him

as they    D  O

for us

or even as they once

d          i          d

A   free   lunch?

Maybe not.         .         .

but for a buck-79,

it’s about as priceless as it gets.           .           .

and a cup of coffee has never tasted better;

Join  us!

Where’s the Hank you’ll get to meet.         .          .

or   have   you   already?

Pssssssssssssssst;

Go meet him

a            g            a            i            n