My First Father’s Day as a Chef—and a Dad
Father’s Day has never been a big event in my world. In a family of chefs, holidays often mean longer hours, not less. While others celebrate with barbecues and backyard toasts, we’re usually in the thick of a brunch rush, slicing, sautéing, plating. That’s just the life. But this year was different—this year, I became a father.
Our daughter, Mila, arrived like a spark in the middle of our non-stop, kitchen-bound lives. She’s tiny, but she’s changed everything. It’s not just that I see things differently now; it’s that I feel time differently. I used to measure my days in staff lists and event timing. Now I think about first smiles, bath times, and tiny socks.
On this first Father’s Day, the kitchen was still busy. We were still juggling knives and timers, still shouting “Behind!” and “No Thumbs on the plates!” But somehow, amidst the noise and the rhythm of service, there was a new kind of joy—a quiet one. I looked over at my family, all of us chefs, all of us bound together by something more than food now. And later, when I held Mila in my arms—just for a few minutes before the next task—I felt it: gratitude. Deep, slow-burning gratitude for the love in this fast-paced life.
We don’t usually stop for holidays. But Mila is teaching me that sometimes, even a moment is enough.
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