In the corner stood a rickety table. One leg was gnawed so much that it resembled a used toothpick, while another was held in place with a single bent nail.
The bulb which lit the room flickered uncertainly, as if it wasn't sure of its welcome. The room it lit was filled by three people: a man, his wife, and their son.
The three sat in mismatched chairs at the table, and looked down at the platter.
It was chipped ceramic, and covered with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
The man looked at his wife, and gave a sad shake of his head.
The wife attempted a smile, lips quivering as she glanced toward their son.
The boy was staring at sandwiches, his eyes wide.
Silence stretched, during which the wife looked back to her husband.
He took a deep breath, and lifted a hand to his son's shoulder.
"Tommy, I know it isn't turkey and stuffing, but—"
"It's perfect!" Tommy looked up at his father, a wide grin on his face. "I love jelly, and it's fun when the peanut butter gets stuck to the top of my mouth. Thanks a bunch!"
And as their son eagerly dug into the sandwiches, the man and his wife shared another look.
One filled with gratitude for their child's joy.
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