Sunday he threw his backpack up on the table and was frantically looking through it for something. Someone asked if he needed help. No…I just can’t find my cookie, he stated. Becoming more frustrated he abandoned his pack and started looking on the ground. “I only got one bite of it and set it down, now I can’t find it.” We didn’t have anymore or I would have offered him another. I was thinking if he finds it on the ground, I hope he doesn’t plan to eat it, with all the geese and ducks there, who knows what is on the ground. He returned to the table for his pack and continued to search for the cookie. I can’t remember what was said but he stopped and said “I wanted that cookie, it reminded me of someone.” “It tastes just like the one’s my father use to make.” Then the realization of what that cookie meant hit me. It had nothing to do with eating the thing, it was a connection to something that no longer was. I wondered, is his father still alive, if so was their relationship broken. I pictured a little boy standing in a chair in the kitchen with his father, together making cookies. A time together not just baking, but a father spending time with his son bonding and sharing the love he has for him. A moment in time that will never be again. It really had nothing to do with the cookie. It was just something that took his memories from the harshness of the streets to a place that brought him happiness and joy. I told him I would make more for next week…..I really do hope he comes down again. I think I will make a special bag of cookies just for him.