We served excellent food, paid our staff fairly, and survived on hard work.
I was proud of it.
And my son, Ethan, was proud of it too.
Ethan had messy brown hair, a quiet personality, and an unusual ability to recognize when someone needed help.
He wasn’t one of those kids who demanded attention.
He noticed things.
If a waitress dropped something, he helped pick it up.
If someone looked overwhelmed, he asked what he could do.
And if I came home exhausted, he would quietly make me a sandwich before asking about my day.
He was the kind of child who gave more than he knew how to ask for.
That Christmas Eve, he gave me three hours.
Two employees called out during our busiest holiday catering shift.
We had dozens of dessert orders, special dinners, and carefully packed trays waiting for pickup.
Our manager, Rosa, was answering phones while our sous-chef, Luis, handled the ovens.
