No more school —  a teenager’s dream and “be home for dinner” is the only request.
The driveway holds the aroma of meat and smoke.
My chin drops when it enters my open windows.
Friends arrive to join my family for burgers and a glass of wine.
Days like these are as easy as breathing.

Tears fall like leaves on the first day.
I race home too exhausted to think of anything but a nap.
My aunt’s laugh wakes me and I tumble down the stairs,
my tired turns to joy.
Food intertwined with love —  that was a good day.

Darting between the heat and the snow,
I wait on the kitchen stool wrapped in a homemade quilt.
The sizzle shows me it’s ready.
Sprinting back, my socks soak but my hands remain full with a plate.
Inside the dining room, we act like a family should.

My mother and sisters trim the trees to the smell of charcoal.
I rush to the door when it rings greeting friends I consider family.
All of us out to the patio to enjoy some fresh air.
The timer buzzes.
We eat between laughter, stories, and thanks.

Once I’m 30, my dad no longer makes the burgers.
I’m outside through snowflakes and sunflowers carrying on the tradition.
My husband and I sit around the deck sipping on wine,
my children carry on adventures while the sun still beats down.
My only request? “Please be home for dinner.”