fountain of joy
I have told many people, even people who haven^t asked, that I grew up in a normal family. And compared to some families, mine is like tuna casserole, but looking back on it brings up few *normal* memories.
My dad had the typical nine to five work day and when he got home everyone was excited to see him, but weekday dad was all *dinner, homework, and bed.* So, my sister and brothers^ real treat came on the weekends when we could spend the whole day with him.
But my dad never slowed down (still). On the weekends he always had a project for everyone to work on, but that was OK because we all knew there would be a reward.
I still remember digging what seemed like a mile long trench for our new sprinklers. The day was hot, there was no shade, I had the bad shovel, (with a square tip, meant for shoveling coal not digging trenches) and for some reason I was wearing a black shirt. It felt like I had been digging my whole life, and then it happened, the reward.
No one announced it, there was no specific time, but everyone could tell when my dad had that look in his eyes, we were going to the gas station.
My five siblings and two parents all had their own refill mug and mug holder (the kind that you had to roll into your window). We would pile into the 82^ chevy tan-van and head to the Holiday Oil station for 25 cent refills.
It sounds silly, but those were some of the best times of my childhood. Even today when I fill up a soda at a gas station I feel a little nostalgic. If I have done bad on a test or been hit by a car, a gas station soda always makes me feel good.
My dad had the typical nine to five work day and when he got home everyone was excited to see him, but weekday dad was all *dinner, homework, and bed.* So, my sister and brothers^ real treat came on the weekends when we could spend the whole day with him.
But my dad never slowed down (still). On the weekends he always had a project for everyone to work on, but that was OK because we all knew there would be a reward.
I still remember digging what seemed like a mile long trench for our new sprinklers. The day was hot, there was no shade, I had the bad shovel, (with a square tip, meant for shoveling coal not digging trenches) and for some reason I was wearing a black shirt. It felt like I had been digging my whole life, and then it happened, the reward.
No one announced it, there was no specific time, but everyone could tell when my dad had that look in his eyes, we were going to the gas station.
My five siblings and two parents all had their own refill mug and mug holder (the kind that you had to roll into your window). We would pile into the 82^ chevy tan-van and head to the Holiday Oil station for 25 cent refills.
It sounds silly, but those were some of the best times of my childhood. Even today when I fill up a soda at a gas station I feel a little nostalgic. If I have done bad on a test or been hit by a car, a gas station soda always makes me feel good.
posted by spitzer at 5:52 AM
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