Every morning I wake up to find a cup of a mysterious orange-brownish concoction sitting on the counter glaring at me. My dad makes a mean shake every morning by blending everything and anything supposedly healthy. Every morning I am forced to pick up this cup, place it to my lips, and gulp this viscous mixture as it oozes down my throat. After I chug it down, I wash out the remaining bits with gulps of fresh water but there is no way to get rid of the pungent taste that still permeates my mouth. The drink immediately fills up my stomach and steals away all my appetite for cereal and milk, toast and tea, or whatever breakfast I had otherwise planned on and looked forward to eating. This is what I wake up to every morning when I'm back home, when I finally decide to drag myself out of of bed at around 11 am.
Every morning, my dad wakes up at 8 am to make sure his family starts the day with something healthy. He carefully washes and chops up all the organic fruits and vegetables he had picked out earlier that week from the market. He had studied up and learned to do all this from a book on nutrition that he had been reading for months. He patiently prepares everything and makes 3 cups; 1 for himself, 1 for mom, and 1 for me, and then rushes off to work.
Every morning I wake up to my dad’s cup of love for me. No matter how much it makes me gag, I still drink it every morning.