Pass it to Ben

We just got back from having Thanksgiving dinner with friends, and I'm still thinking about how Alice was there with us, in an odd, unexpected way.

Dessert time arrived, and among many sweets there was this big white cloud of cake, a frosted angel food with chunky shavings of coconut. Ben, the 14 year old son of family friends, loved this particular cake, so he was the first to be served. As Fred our gracious host plated a piece, he said "Pass this one to Ben" and I heard "Pass it to Ben" in Alice's voice.

Flash back a solid twenty five years -- boy, am I getting old -- when I was playing city-sponsored soccer one summer. Ben was Filipino, a tall fairly-skilled teammate of mine. During games, his mother would run up and down the sidelines yelling to all of us "Pass it to Ben! Pass it to Ben!" encouraging him to be a ball hog. My sisters and I got a big kick out of this, and since then Alice especially has loved saying "Pass it to Ben!" invoking a cheerful moment in our childhood.

I excused myself from the dining room and shed a few tears in the kitchen. It was a pretty big dinner, so it wasn't long before I was engaged in conversation with Ben's dad, actually. I was sad to miss for the rest of my life Alice's quick quips. Pass it to Ben, indeed.