Barbra and I were in Mocha Daze, finishing up the end of a busy afternoon shift. With the recent heat wave, we were making lots of iced blendeds and frozen mochas. My patience was worn thin (doesn't take much anyway), and I found myself barking at Barbra and the staff-- not to mention a customer or two.

"Why don't you take a break?" demanded Barbra. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked a man with three kids who approached the counter.

"Four decaf iced mochas."

I turned around, returning to the coffee station and scooping ice into a blender. Barbra looked at me with an "I'm-really-sorry-but-thanks-for-saving-my-ass" stare. She began to serve the next people in line.

Line? Shit! There were now close to 5 people behind Mr. Four Decaf Iced Mochas.

As I continued with the chocolate syrup, milk, and coffee, I saw the peering eyes of a little boy with Mr. Four Iced Mochas standing below the counter-- watching me work with wide eyed fascination.

Suddenly, I was reminded of myself as a child and thought if this little boy loved his father as much as I loved mine-- would he be okay?

Before I knew it, all three boys were standing below the counter, waiting with big eyes for the chocolate rush their father had permitted.

Sons and fathers. It never ends, does it? What's passed on continues, whether it's pain or love, regardless of the child. And in that thought came a sudden wave of relief, as I realized that I would be able to affect my own family chain by having a child. Perhaps this is how I could end this life of torment for myself?

"What's your name?" I asked the youngest boy.

"Nate. What's yours?"

"I'm Steve."

"Hi, Steve."

God, the way he sounded reminded me of a 12 step meeting. I looked at the boy's father, who was showing his other two sons the pastry case.

"Is that your dad?"

"Yep. I like coffee."

Suddenly I felt like some high school drug pusher. "First one's free, tell your friends. You do, do you? How old are you?"

"Seven."

In the child's eyes, I realized there was such innocence. And in that instant I saw the gift a son could give me. The lessons he could teach me. The joy. The love.

"Here you go, Nate."

I handed him and his brothers their frozen drinks, and suddenly Nate was off to another distraction. Another adventure.

I looked at their father, "Great kids."

He nodded thanks, smiling in exhaustion. "Great Mocha."

I smiled. But how could you even compare kids and a stupid drink? Ah, he was just making conversation. But I hoped he was a better father, than at making small talk with the owner of Mocha Daze.

As I made the next drink, I thought of having a son. And I smiled, filled with peace, and the knowledge that I could be loved-- perhaps unconditionally-- by my own son someday.