They were young. 

They had three children.  Two girls, and, I can’t remember if the baby was a boy or girl. 

His wife was loaded down with baby and backpack; he had the little girls’ hands in both of his as they approached the ordering counter. 

He glanced my way and our eyes met briefly. 

He and his wife discussed quietly what to order and, after ordering found their way to a booth near the southeast corner. 

He went to fetch condiments for their meal and, after bringing them to their table, went back for their drinks. 

When he got back to their table, his wife was just about finished settling the baby in, and his girls had let fall a several condiment packages under the table. 

He took it all in with a quick glance. 

So did I. 

And I saw that they had enough condiment packages on the table for their meal; they didn’t need those under the table. 

I don’t know if he thought about leaving them under their table or not.  I know I did for him. 

Another brief glance my way.  I’m not sure why our eyes met as often as they did.  Maybe I was staring?  But I don’t think so. 

He squatted down, reached under the table and retrieved the condiment packages. 

I half way expected him to let fly a bit at his family for their carelessness, but he didn’t. 

And then his wife looked up, and I knew what she was going to tell him, even though I couldn’t hear what she was saying. 

Because I have sat at the booth myself, and I know how cold the air is, pouring straight down from the air-conditioning vent overhead.  

He nodded, and started transferring napkins, car seat, little girls, drinks, and yes, condiment packages to the booth next where the air wasn’t so cold. 

And he did it all without murmur or complaint, not even a hardened look around the eyes for which I might have excused him. 

About the time they were situated, their food order was called; he went to fetch that and once back at the table parted out to each one what was theirs. 

And about that time Mama J and I were tossing our trash in the bin and she was pushing the door open to go to our car.  

I told her to go ahead, I’d be out in just a bit. 

And I glanced back to the table in the corner just in time to meet his gaze. 

I smiled and walked over.  

I told him he had a very nice family, and, that I felt he was training them up in a good way. 

I wish you could have seen his eyes; or could have heard his wife as she genuinely told me thank you for noticing.  

I wish I would have had time to sit down just opposite him and soaked up his family and, if the time seemed right, tell him a few of my thoughts. 

I would have told him how I saw myself in their little group, some twenty years ago. 

Although not at Freddy’s because, if you can believe it, Freddy’s wasn’t a thing yet, twenty some years ago. 

I would have told him I admired him for doing the things he was doing. 

Things that had an altogether different meaning than what it looked like to the casual observer. 

Things that it looked like he had a handle on that I’m quite sure I didn’t twenty some years ago. 

I would have told him that I’ve since learned how much it means to a lady to make herself look pretty. 

Even if it’s only for an hour, I would have told him how much a little outing, away from the daily grind means for a lady. 

I would have told him how, when he uncomplainingly changed to a warmer spot, that he was honoring and supporting the beauty of motherhood, and going, as we men can only go so far, into that realm of nurture of our little ones, and also acknowledging how his wife, or any woman for that matter, has intuition in these areas that we men don’t have. 

I would have told him how I learned that when my wife started telling me about her day and the different things, she encountered that she wasn’t seeking advice like I am wont to give; that all she really wants is me, just like his wife had him that day. 

I would have told him that I noticed he left his phone hooked to his belt for the entire time I observed them. And I would have told him how much it means to our lovely’s when we as men stand in solidarity against ourselves, providing a solid bulwark for our family to be secure in, without any fear or assumed responsibility for what is outside of that safe circle.  

I would have told him that if he kept on keeping on just like he was, that his little girls would grow up to love him deeply, but more than that, to look for the same qualities he had in their future husbands, further perpetuating the solid home that any country is so desperately in need of if it is to survive on a larger scale. 

In the end, I would have told him I knew he probably felt so insignificant and like such a basic thing as taking one’s family out, and the chaos that always goes along with it, is actually a huge thing in the whole scheme of things. 

I would have told him it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t remember it, or if his family doesn’t, because what really mattered was that he was there, present in every sense of the word.  

But in the end, all I said was that I liked what I saw, and I walked out feeling like I hadn’t said enough.  

But looking back at them from the door, I saw radiant smiles and happy eyes, and, maybe that is all that mattered.