When I was growing up, it was not uncommon during the summer months for my dad to wake me up and state, “C’mom, we are going riding today.” ‘Riding’ meant that my dad’s day at work in sales would have a passenger in the car with him; me. Now to take a thirteen year-old away from summer sun to stay in a car all day was about as painful as one could ever imagine.
But……..there would be lunch.
My dad always knew these great, silly places to have lunch. Wetsons, a deli hero, a great hot dog stand, or some other silly place that meant a great lunch; which meant great conversation. We would talk a lot about baseball and our NY Mets (I guess I can blame him for the many years of agony rooting for a team that is opposite one with almost 30 rings).
We would talk about nothing. We would talk. The youngest of six kids, having dad to myself was not such a common thing and I was so much older when I realized the great opportunity I had, and the great conversations alive to this day in my memory.
My dad passed in 2009, 4 days prior to Rob being diagnosed with type 1 diabetes (that week surely sucked). This week I drove by the place pictured here and it immediately rushed memories across my mind. I had to stop for a hot dog. I needed a memory on this day.
I sat on the seat in the front and thought back to 40 years ago and the many times I grudgingly was in this position. On this day I was alone. I wished with all my heart, for just one more day, to have my hot-dog partner once again…………….. to talk about nothing.