Pinta, who is three-and-a-half now, likes to say little sentences to me. At bedtime, before I turn the lights out, she'll say "I hope you have a good sleep, daddy," and, earlier today, as I left for the office, "I hope you have a good day at work." These are sweet gestures, but nothing is as sweet as what she did this morning.
She was up early with her sister, and Santa Maria had started on their breakfast. Pinta is still young enough to be a terror upon waking if she doesn't get food into her stomach pronto. She loves fruit, and would eat it all day if she could. Santa Maria handed her a small bosc pear, and Pinta turned it upside down, like an ice-cream cone, and started to eat around it as if she was licking a scoop of Van Leeuwen vanilla.
Pinta offered to share the pear with me, but I wasn't in the mood. I like fruit well enough, but it is a taste that came to me late in life, and a 6:53 a. m. pear is not really my thing. Pinta was undeterred, though. She asked if I would like to take one to work. I said sure, and she trotted off to the kichen to get one for me. Santa Maria washed it, and I put it my bag, along with leftover scallops and fried rice that I had made the night before.
I forgot all about the pear until lunch today, when I opened my bag and found the little treat. I think it was the most delicious piece of fruit I've ever had. I enjoyed it before I even tasted it. My camera is broken, so I drew a little picture of it on my desk, next to a reporter's pad. Then I gobbled it in about three bites.