Much ado about crumbs

Staff photo Alexis Bigelow

These faces can soften the hardest of hearts. As I crawled under the dining room table again, I wanted to know whom this trail was for.

I plucked another kernel-sized crumb from the floor and dusted the smaller ones into a tiny pile with my other hand.

I know my kids well enough. The crumbs were not for them to follow.

I sighed as the trail continued under the table legs toward the living room.

On my hands and elbows, I slowly backed out, careful to cover enough distance to clear the edge of the table and not drop the crumbs.

I sat up when I knew I was clear and banged my head on the table anyway.

I stared at the crumbs as they trailed into the distance.

How many times had I been down here? How often should a man see the underside of his table?

It feels