How to Make the Perfect Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich

"In order to make the perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich, you will need the following items: a plate, a knife, two pieces of bread, one jar of your favorite peanut butter, and one jar of your favorite jelly."

As I walk with my son through his place of employment, I am filled with wonder at the young man he has become. He proudly shows me the newly completed office building, pointing out all of the features that make it state-of-the-art to accommodate people with disabilities. He's so official-looking with his keys to all of the conference rooms, electronics, and hydraulic features. Although I am listening to his every word, part of my mind wanders to snapshots of his childhood, including making his lunch each day before school.

"On your plate, place two pieces of your favorite sandwich bread. Place bread slices side-by-side on the plate."

We finish the tour at his desk, a busy-looking area filled with colorful Post-It notes, a calendar full of reminders, and his computer, open and ready to get back to work, and I think of the desk in his room at home, sterile, clean, and missing the many drawings and books for homework that used to occupy the space.

" Open your jar of peanut butter. Insert the knife into your jar of peanut butter, scooping up the amount you prefer on your sandwich. Use the peanut butter to coat the top side of one of the pieces of bread on your plate. Use all of the peanut butter on the knife, leaving it clean for your jelly. Place the lid back on your jar of peanut butter and close it."

As he walks me back to the front entrance of the building, we make plans to meet for dinner. I tell him I will pick him up at seven, and I let him know he will be driving my car as he knows his way around the city he now calls home. He says if I want to pick him up a little early he can show me around some of the historic neighborhoods he has discovered with homes full of "cool" architectural features, and a snapshot of his youth, drawing buildings for his imaginary city, making up stories about the people who live there, flashes in my mind. I smile and tell him that sounds wonderful, and I will pick him up earlier than originally planned at his apartment.

"Open the jar of your favorite jelly. Insert your knife into the jar of jelly, scooping up the perfect amount for your sandwich. Spread the jelly evenly on the top side of your second piece of bread. Do your best to clean off the knife as you spread the jelly. Set the knife on your plate and carefully place the lid back on the jelly, screwing it closed."

Some time later, I head from my hotel to his apartment. After dinner, I will get the tour as I haven't been to town since he moved into his new home, but for now we are off to tour some of his favorite neighborhoods and then downtown for our dinner reservation. I marvel as he drives me though different areas of the city. He points out architecture and tells me the names of the architects that are responsible for some of the more impressive homes. He takes me though the city and talks about the new semi-pro soccer field being built and the changes to the river front that will happen soon, and he mentions his plans to go to the farmer's market that Saturday to pick up some fresh fruit and vegetables: I smile inwardly as I remember the little boy who refused to eat anything but chicken nuggets and pepperoni pizza with the cheese and pepperoni removed so that he really only ate sauce and crust.

"Place the two pieces of bread together evenly, peanut butter and jelly sides facing one another. Place the sandwich on your plate; cut the sandwich as you choose, or leave it as it is. When you are satisfied with the look of the sandwich, place your knife in the sink and move your plate to where you will be eating. If the sandwich is for a sack lunch, place the sandwich in a plastic sandwich bag and then into a brown paper bag with any other items you wish to include for your lunch."

We enjoy a lovely meal. We have serious discussions and we laugh a lot when recounting stories of the past. We have a glass of wine, eat our salad, enjoy delicious entrees with not a chicken nugget in sight, and top dinner off with dessert and a cup of coffee. I think about the little boy who used to squirm at restaurants and talk a little too loudly and eat a little too quickly so that our evenings at restaurants did not always end well.

We get back to his apartment, and he gives me the full tour. It's small, but it's his. He actually has labeled containers of herbs for cooking growing on his windowsill, and he proudly shows me how he has meal-prepped for the week. He shows me butter chicken, red beans and rice, and salad--all made from scratch--not a processed chicken product or pepperoni pizza in sight. I ask him if he takes this for lunch to work, and he says he doesn't as he usually just has time for a quick sandwich at his desk. He shows me his peanut butter and jelly and bread, and he asks me if I would mind making his sandwich for the next day because my PBJ sandwiches were always the best. With a tear in my eye and joy in my heart, I say, "Absolutely," and get to work.

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