Cooling the milk

A handful classmates at school had suicided parents. A good friend of my whom I met in middle school
shared the same fate with me. However the difference is drastic. She lived with her father and two much older sibling from her father’s first marriage. The father spoiled her to death often to the ire of the older kids.
One morning I went to her home to meet up for school. Her apartment was on the second floor. The window was open and her dad’s two elbows rested on the window sills. One hand was holding a pot and the other a spoon stirring. My friend was down on the street level. Her dad called out to her,
“Come back up, the milk is cooled.”
Milk, at the time, had to be boiled to drink. It was a precious commodity that needed some maneuvered to be had. The manufacturer distributed them daily in the afternoon to a spot in the community where we could pick it up.
My friend impatiently looking up at her father,
“Daaaad, I’m running late. “
“It won’t take too long. Come up. I already cooled it down.”
Reluctantly, she ran back up. Through the opened window, I heard her gentle complain,
“Dad, I had  big breakfast.”
“But you haven’t drunk the milk yet. You should drink it every day.” Milk considered a great nutrient when we didn’t have much to go on.
“… but dad, don’t do that again. My friend is here.”
If she worried to be seen as a dad’s girl, she needed not. I would trade place with her in a heart beat. My dad, nor any my family members, had never even attended a parents’ meeting for me.

About The Kibbitzer

bio info .... mmmm ... still working on it ... will add soon ...
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