Generational

Oh, my no peanut butter during the war, Catholic school grandfather
My orange juice pouring, snarky commenting, desperate patriarch who nods his head without refrain
My grandmother with the permed hair and the feeling of rain in her joints 
and the same old stories of nuns and small portions at fancy French resteraunts 
The same old phrases completed by the husband that makes her lose her sanity more each day
"I see said the blind man..." 
"As he picked up his hammer and saw"
If one of you has charm, the other's got an ego 

But still I admit I enjoy your coffee 
Toast with brown sugar and sour cream
If generations carry something 
while they too create something new
I hope to have your stubborness
The kind you both do 
Though your daughter tells me it's already there
I think she has it too 
I hope my stories be so novel
and I hope you'll keep me in my promise
to always have peanut butter for you