How Taking My Family Out to Breakfast Is the Greatest Joy in Life

The simple pleasure of sharing precious moments with your family

I’ve gotten into the habit of taking my family out for breakfast on Sunday mornings. Until last week, I didn’t fully recognize how much joy and appreciation I gather up from these simple moments of togetherness.

My eldest daughter didn’t want to go. She’s a teenager now, so whenever any activity is proposed, the instantaneous response is, “No!”

Well, you have to be careful. Sometimes it’s a hard no, and sometimes the negation is just her reflexive response. If we were vacationing in Florida and somebody said, “Should we go to Disney World today?” I expect she’d immediately say, “No!”

The way to handle this is to wait an appropriate interval and then ask again. If you don’t wait long enough, she takes it as an infringement upon her autonomy. If you wait too long, you are back to the reflexive negation. The trick is to find that sweet spot where she’s had time enough to think the proposal over and realize on her own that it is something she’d like to do.

I know that she has to sleep. Sunday is a day for relaxing. Usually, I don’t try to round us up for breakfast until 9. But last week, everybody else was up and puttering about.

I called upstairs, and got my first “No!” Then I waited a while and went up to deliver the second invite personally.

“Come on, get up, everybody’s ready to go.”

Groan. “Fine!”

Even her reluctant agreement filled my heart with joy.

My face relaxed into a smile, and I veritably skipped down the stairs. It was like Christmas morning in reverse. I, the father, had been tasked with awakening the reluctant kid.

After a while she came downstairs. She was taking her sweet time about this whole undertaking, even though I could tell that she had already started thinking about the Belgian waffles with strawberries and cream that she likes to order.

She sat on the couch to put on her shoes, and gave me her “death stare.” That’s something she’s been practicing. Everybody needs to develop a good death stare. Unfortunately for my daughter, her death stare makes her look adorable, particularly when I can detect the twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

“Thank you for agreeing to come to breakfast with us,” I said. “In appreciation, I will perform, for you, the dance of happiness.”

Then I started to dance.

I’m actually a pretty good dancer. I learned it in Peru prior to meeting my wife. You can’t be a young man living in South America without learning how to dance. I resisted at first, but the barriers of my youthful foolishness were gently eroded by the persistent invitations of beautiful young women politely asking, “Would you like to dance?”

At some point, common sense tapped me on the shoulder and demanded to know what I gained by turning them away. “You keep claiming you want attention, well, here it is!”

Why, oh why are young men reluctant to dance?

So, in the living room, my daughter giving me her best “death stare,” I unapologetically danced in celebration of going to breakfast with my family.

It’s such a simple thing. I delight in watching how my girls peruse the menu. I delight in observing them get excited over their selections. I like watching them eat because I know the food will make them grow up big and strong and healthy.

I could sit all day and watch my kids eat.

It’s contentment like slipping into a bath and discovering the water is the perfect temperature. These moments aren’t as spectacular as the burst of fireworks or as thrilling as a roller-coaster, but you get to experience the quiet satisfaction of knowing that everything, for a brief moment, is perfect.

These moments happen more often than you might think. They’re easy to miss. I suggest that everyone make a deliberate effort to try and notice them.

As I continued to dance, I saw that my daughter had begun to smile.

“What’s daddy doing?” mom said.

“He’s doing the happy breakfast dance,” my younger daughter said.

“Why is he doing that?”

“Because Sienna doesn’t want to go to breakfast.”

“Oh, she doesn’t does she?”

My wife can be less tolerant of the delicate routines of unspoken coaxing that are needed to get everyone not only to do something together, but to be content with the activity as well. She’s more inclined to say, “You’ll do it and that’s it!” which has its place too.

“Everything is fine,” I said. “Sienna agreed to come with and now we’re getting ready and soon we’ll be having our delicious family breakfast. Hooray! Happy breakfast dance!” And I went into my final flurry of motions that were equal parts dazzling, enthusiastic, and ridiculous.

That did it. Even Sienna laughed, and mom laughed. My youngest had already been laughing. By then the dog too, sensing the commotion in the room, had entered to wag his whole body and shake his tongue at me and give me the look that said, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here for it!”

I made eye contact with my daughter. She seemed at ease, and that’s all I want. I hope she knows that I’ll gladly throw myself at her feet. I’ll throw myself at her feet not to die but to live. To live and labor in her service, day after day, year after year, sustained by the joy I experience from basking in the light of her prosperity. I hope she knows that no king or emperor or god in the history of creation has ever known more loyalty than I am prepared to demonstrate for her. I hope she feels this on a level beyond awareness, and that it contributes to a foundation of confidence that will provide an stable platform upon which she can build a transcendent life.

I hope.

We get in the car, drive to the restaurant, sit at our table, and make our order. The restaurant is run by a nice immigrant family. Ours is an immigrant family too, so we share an unspoken connection that’s as powerful as the promise of a dance.

I order a bacon and egg omelet. It’s my cheat day, but I upgrade from toast to fruit.

My wife gets two eggs, sunny-side up.

Both of my daughters get the Belgian waffle with strawberries and cream. They squeal when it arrives, and the bright colors of red and white make it seem like the waitress has just brought Christmas on a plate.

When you think about it, every day is Christmas when your children are at home.

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