I grab two gallons of milk from the shelf. I shake my head as I look at them. “It didn’t used to take two gallons at a time to feed three boys,” I think.
I heft the gallons into the cart and push on to finish the shopping trip. As I near the end of the aisle a man rounds the corner. He’s dressed in a dirty baseball uniform, clearly a coach. And just as clearly shopping to feed his entire team. His basket overflows with every kind of fresh meat you can imagine. There’s enough food there to feed an army. It’s easily $500 worth. Maybe more.
I laugh as he passes by. “Feeding the whole team?” I ask.
He turns to look at me, a tired glint in his eyes. “No,” he laughs, “Just my two teenage sons.”
I stop smiling.
He jerks his head toward the next aisle. “My wife is over there with another basket that looks just like this,” he says.
I don’t say anything.
He nods at Colton. “He’ll be eating like this some day too, you know,” he says.
I snap out of my horror long enough to answer. “Yeah, and so will his two brothers.”
“You have three boys!” he exclaims. He just shakes his head and gives his basket a small shove to get it going. He stops and looks back at me. “Good luck.”
There’s no real hope in his voice.