Say Cheese

The calendar reads June 4, 2026. Apparently, it is National Cheese Day.

Why not? There seems to be a national day for absolutely everything these days.

Today, however, I received a reminder of why cheese holds such a special place in my world. Please hold while I explain…

Cheese and I are old friends. There really isn’t a type of cheese I don’t enjoy (although Monterey Jack and I have never quite been on a first-name basis, and that’s okay. We smile politely and nod when we pass each other.)

Even now, after all these years, I automatically say “cheese” when posing for a picture. Truth be told, after a cocktail or two, I’ll often say fromage, which is French for cheese and somehow sounds far more sophisticated than anything I usually say.

Anyhoo, back to this morning’s reminder and how cheese came knocking on my Thursday door.

Ding.

A text from Jake.

He tells me that our local News12 station is reporting that today is National Cheese Day. He follows that up by saying cheese always reminds him of his former classmate, Matt.

Instantly, I smiled.

And instantly, I remembered why cheese became such an important part of our family’s story.

We were somewhere around the year 2000. Jake wandered into the kitchen wearing a tiny velour bathrobe, his hair sticking up in every possible direction. He shuffled toward the refrigerator with the confidence of a twenty-year-old who had been out all night and was desperately searching for something to revive him.

He knew exactly where he was going.

He also had a lot to say.

The words weren’t entirely clear, but the conversation coming out of this little human seemed endless. I stood there trying not to laugh because I didn’t want to interrupt whatever important business he was conducting. The running commentary lasted several minutes before he finally settled on milk. I swooped in, grabbed it for him, and went on with my day.

Months later, we returned to the pediatrician for a routine visit.

The usual questions came first.

Height?

Weight?

Walking?

Jumping?

Standing?

Then came speech.

“Any speech?”

I froze.

No.

Not recently.

My once-chatty little boy had gone silent.

The babbling, the chatter, the endless observations about his world had disappeared. There were blank stares and occasional outbursts of frustration, but very few words.

The doctor must have seen the panic spreading across my marquee-sized forehead.

“No need for alarm,” he said gently. “Let’s just explore some options and see if there are any delays.”

Many of you who have been here for a while know where those “options” eventually led. Testing resulted in Jake being diagnosed with Autism.

At the time, there were many discussions about children who stopped speaking after rounds of vaccines and never regained language. I never fully bought into that theory, although I will admit that every parent searches endlessly for answers when something changes so dramatically. To this day, I still wonder what happened. But that’s a road that can quickly lead to despair, so we’ll stay firmly planted on solid ground and keep moving forward.

The next two years were filled with specialists, teachers, therapists, and extraordinary people who patiently helped pull words back out of him.

Jake learned to communicate using visual cards. He would assemble words into sentences and show us what he needed. It was fascinating to watch the wheels turning in his head.

He was communicating.

Just differently.

At night, after everyone was asleep, I would sometimes find myself sitting in the laundry room crying and praying. I begged God to let us hear his voice again. I prayed for conversations. I prayed for words.

Just words.

Then the summer of 2005 arrived.

One evening, I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a package of Land O’Lakes American cheese to make Jake’s dinner—grilled cheese and Smiley Fries.

As I stood there, Jake suddenly appeared beside me.

“Cheese,” he said.

I froze.

The package nearly slipped from my hands.

My heart started racing.

“What was that, Jake?” I asked.

He pointed.

“Cheese.”

I stared at him.

Then he added:

“Matt eats cheese.”

Matt was a little boy in his class.

With a few more questions, we learned that Matt brought cheese sandwiches to school for lunch every day.

Jake smiled, turned around, and casually walked down the hallway as if he hadn’t just altered the course of my universe.

Meanwhile, I was leaning against the refrigerator, looking toward the ceiling.

Tears streamed down my face.

I thanked God for those three simple words.

“Matt eats cheese.”

Three words.

That’s all it took.

Three words that opened a door.

Three words that announced his voice had returned.

Three words that launched an entirely new world for our family.

And the conversations we’ve had since then?

Well, those are stories for future blogs.

Stay tuned for one involving a Spelling Bee.

Trust me.

That’s a hoot.

So yes, today may officially be National Cheese Day. Most people will celebrate with a charcuterie board, an extra slice of pizza, or perhaps a grilled cheese sandwich. Me? I’ll celebrate something entirely different. Every time I hear the word cheese, I’m transported back to that kitchen, standing in front of an open refrigerator while a little boy unknowingly answered years of prayers. It wasn’t just cheese. It was hope. It was progress. It was the beginning of conversations I once feared we might never have. And for that reason alone, cheese will always be one of my favorite words. 🧀❤️