I had the privilege of taking my father out to lunch. My wife, our two older children and grandma went to see Wicked, a broadway musical that had come to town. That left me, dad, the two younger boys and my pager. "Little C", my five year old, and I decided to take grandpa out to lunch. This was such a simple but thrilling event for me. For years my father would take us out to eat at the various unique restaurants and holes in the wall around southern California. He knew them all. After temple trips it was the Jewish restaurant in Santa Monica or Tommy's. After General Priesthood meetings it was In-N-Out or Tommy's. On our way to LA, the hidden Japanese Tempura restaurant or Tommy's. Toward Riverside, a lunch place with fresh banana cream pie or...you get the picture. Hot Pastrami, Hot Tamales, Chile Cheese Fries, Taquitos. El Patio, El Pollo (Loco), El Guapo and more. Then there were the dessert joints. Swenson's ice cream, Thrifty ice cream, 31 and the ever sacred, Hagen Daz. My father had a particular way of eating his ice cream. There were always two musts. It must be hard, it must include extra sauce. I can just picture him even today, asking the clerk if there ice cream is hard. I can't imagine how many times, one of those servers, wanted to probably say, "Why don't you come back and check it yourself?" Either way, hard or soft my dad would still consume every bite to the last drop.
Now consumption was an entirely different story. My father could enjoy any one of the above delicious meals while driving a car. Soft drink with straw, no challenge. Milk shake with spoon, piece of cake. Chile cheese fries, not one stain. Hot tamales with chile and cheese in a rectangular paper bowl, fork and all. Now this I have to explain in more detail. The Tamale inside it's paper receptacle, would sit on top of the dash, the soft drink between the legs. Then in the right moment, which I did not know of a wrong moment, my father would lean forward, cut the tamale then shovel it into his mouth while steering with his legs. It was awesome. I would sometimes stare and be in awe. One day I would be able to achieve such a task. All this and next to the tamale in the company car was a sign, "30 years of safe driving" awarded to my dad. I was proud, he drove safely and could enjoy a four course meal while doing it.
Now you might understand why taking my father to one of our local burger joints was such a thrill. We walked up to the dirty floor at the window where you order. You could just see years of fallen fries and broken ketchup packages fossilized into the ground. The grease smell was disgusting in yet enticing simultaneously. There were 100's of dead flies within the groove of the order window. Who cares, the food was great. There was a picture of one of the dudes from cable T.V. that goes around trying authentic foods but we all know will one day soon kick the bucket from atherosclerotic plaque. But, his picture validated our choice that day. The food was ordered and eaten. The shakes were chosen and downed. We were done within minutes. My father surprisingly could not eat his entire hamburger like he used to eat. He ate each bite hunched over like an old man. It is not fun to see this great man get old but I guess it is inevitable.
We finally, finished and headed back. Little C loved the food and desires to return. He was so excited to go to lunch with my father. Oh, if he only knew what it meant for me. Love you Dad, thanks for the great memories. The Borks
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