The Day Boston Switched to Hot Lunch (After Two Years of Cold Lunch Devotion)
Some kids have comfort objects. Some have comfort routines.
Boston? He had a comfort lunch.
For two solid years two years this child marched into school with the same cold lunch as it was a sacred ritual. Uncrustable. Apple slices. Chips. A juice box positioned at a perfect 90-degree angle. The man was consistent. The man was loyal. The man was, frankly, unshakable.
I used to joke that if the school cafeteria suddenly announced they were serving “Unlimited Chocolate Fountain Day,” Boston would still stroll in with his lunchbox like, “No thank you. I have my sandwich.”
So, imagine my shock my absolute, earth-tilting, time-pausing shock when one morning he looked at me and said, completely casually:
“I want hot lunch today.”
I froze.
The refrigerator froze.
I’m pretty sure time itself froze.
“Hot lunch?” I repeated, like he had just announced he’d be joining NASA.
He nodded. Calm. Unbothered. Meanwhile, I was mentally flipping through every parenting book I’ve ever read, searching for the chapter titled When Your Child Suddenly Abandons Their Entire Culinary Identity.
But he meant it. He walked into school without his lunchbox his trusty sidekick, his daily companion and didn’t even look back. I, however, stared at that empty hook like I was sending him off to college.
And then… he ate it.
The hot lunch.
The cafeteria hot lunch.
The thing he had avoided with the commitment of a monk avoiding temptation.
When he came home, I asked how it went, trying to sound casual even though I was basically interviewing him like a journalist covering a historic event.
He shrugged.
“It was good.”
GOOD.
Just good.
Two years of cold lunch loyalty, undone by a single “good.”
But here’s the thing: it was a big deal. A huge deal. A brave deal. A flexible, surprising, quietly triumphant deal. Because for Boston, change isn’t small. Change is a mountain. And that day, he climbed one.
So yes, it was “just hot lunch.”
But it was also courage.
It was growth.
It was a tiny revolution on a random Tuesday.
And I will never look at the cafeteria menu the same way again.
So yes, it was “just hot lunch.”
But it was also courage.
It was growth.
It was a tiny revolution on a random Tuesday.
And I will never look at the cafeteria menu the same way again.
