Memories with My Father: Dinners & Drives

This is a story about my father, but it starts with my mother. She saw a therapist for as long as I can remember. When I was young, maybe five or six, it was mentioned in regular conversation here and there. Nothing about it in particular, just that she had seen her therapist, Wendy, recently, or that she was going to see her. I didn’t actually know when my mother saw her therapist, just that she did. I wasn’t involved in the appointments at that age. My mother didn’t drive, so my dad had to take her, but he took her at times that I apparently didn’t notice.

This changed when I was in elementary school, maybe around third grade. Her appointments moved to the evening on a weekday and I had to go with my dad to drop her off. We’d drop her off and wait in the parking lot until her appointment was over. Sometimes we would swing over to Burger King and pick up some food to eat. I don’t remember how frequently this happened, but I distinctly remember finding an onion ring in my French fries once and being extremely excited about it, as if I’d won a million dollars.

My dad had a Plymouth Sundance with fold-down rear seats that extended the trunk. While waiting for my mom’s appointment to end, he’d flip the seats down and let me crawl into the trunk with a blanket to make a fort. I remember thinking it was so cool. Kids didn’t belong in the trunk, so there was a bit of danger to it. It also made a pretty cozy fort. Sometimes I’d hide in the trunk and “surprise” my mom when she came back to the car.

After some time, my mother’s therapist moved to Hampton. I was probably in fourth or fifth grade by this time because I remember my dad helping her up a couple flights of stairs to get to the office. She had been diagnosed with ALS by then and walking was difficult. I’d help too sometimes if I could.

I was 10 or 11 and had matured beyond hiding in the trunk every appointment. Instead my father and I would travel to a nearby McDonalds and have dinner together. We didn’t spend time one-on-one often, but our McDonald’s trip became a weekly routine. I can’t remember exactly what we talked about, but I think this is when I was introduced to my dad’s famous multi-hour story sessions 🙂 One thing we always discussed was how terribly stale the buns were at that particular McDonalds. They were stale every time. It was a good laugh every week.

As my mother’s ALS progressed, it became impossible for her to get up the stairs to her therapist’s office. Since there was no elevator, she stopped going to therapy, and my weekly routine with my dad ended. But it set the precedent for the kind of time we’d spend together as I grew up.

After my mom passed, my dad and I still spent time together that reminded me of our trips to Hampton. Instead of McDonalds it was Burger King, Wendy’s, a trip to the mall, or a drive up to Lake Winnipesaukee. We always had long chats on the way to and from, and good discussions when we arrived. I learned a lot about my family and my dad’s life during these trips. The routine we developed when I was young continued into my teenage years and helped my father and I build a strong relationship and become true friends.

I love you. Happy Father’s Day.