Chapter 17 - THORA LEARNS TO BE SERVED
Thora hated restaurants for months.
Not food.
Servers.
Whenever someone brought a plate, she tried to stand.
“I can help.”
“No.”
“I can carry.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But they’re working.”
“Yes.”
“And we sit?”
“Yes.”
She frowned.
The concept felt morally wrong to her.
Heloise had taught:
Serving means lower.
Sitting means family.
We had to teach something better.
Work does not lower anyone.
Staff are not lesser.
Children are not staff.
At a café, Thora once thanked a server and asked:
“Do you get to sit?”
The woman laughed.
“On my break.”
Thora looked relieved.
I tipped normally.
Not theatrically.
No trauma-based hundred-dollar speeches.
Then at seven, Thora asked to help set our Thanksgiving table.
I froze.
She noticed.
“Daddy.”
“What?”
“I want to.”
Right.
Choice.
She placed napkins.
Dropped two forks.
Laughed.
Sat with everyone.
May you like
Work and belonging coexisted.
That was the repair.
