AN OLDER BROTHER’S ODYSSEY

 

A series of essays….

SUMMER NIGHTS AND BONNIE DOON
ICE CREAM WENT SO WELL TOGETHER

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

Mom didn’t drive and never had a license. Dad said he could never teach her and life was too short to even try. This coming from a man who traveled extensively for his job, often leaving his wife and young children for five days at a time. 

I was too young to question my father’s motives, but later learned that, in many cases, the mentality and social norm of the 1950’s was to keep a wife as dependent upon her male counterpart as much as possible. Our Mom often sacrificed her own needs in her quest to pacify everyone else in our small pack. And, even though we missed him, Dad worked hard to provide for us even if it meant being away much of the time.

Our own two feet, a bicycle (depending on the Indiana weather), and the local bus system became our good friends. Seriously, my older brother, Ronnie, and I did walk to school in South Bend, over a mile away, come rain, shine, snow, and freezing cold.

Mom decided to treat my brothers and me to a hamburger supper, replete with French fries, an abundance of individual ketchup and mustard packets (we were easily amused), and our personal choice of milkshake flavor. Bonnie Doon Drive-In sat about a mile from our front door and was settled and established in 1941 on one of Mishawaka’s main thoroughfares, Lincoln Way West. 

Dad, being on a business trip, afforded Mom no better option than to send my older brother on his shiny English Racer, up to Bonnie Doon to purchase our special meal. I recall her pulling out a small, leather wallet from her purse that was setting on a dining room chair and handing Ronnie several paper bills. He neatly folded the bills and carefully placed them in one of his front bluejean pockets. 

Slipping deftly onto the narrow saddle, pride resonating on his handsome face, our eleven-year-old hero was on a mission of importance; he was to bring, not only, sustenance to his family, but joy, as well via his responsibility of being the current ‘man of the household.’ 

Mom having a driver’s license would have been very useful right about then, but a cellphone would have been the icing on the cake, the cherry on top! Communication was a burgeoning  commodity back in the mid 1950’s when technology was slithering its way into the daily routine of the American lifestyle. By the time my brother returned home, quite a bit later and a little worse for wear, with a sad story to tell, our Mother took one look at his face and hugged his narrow frame for several minutes before releasing him, tears in her eyes. 

THE PROVERBIAL CHERRY ON TOP!

He saved the milkshakes. He rescued the fries and condiments. However, the hamburgers were not so lucky. His skinny bike tires lost their grip on the gravel along the side of the road and down he tumbled, supper and all. While reaching for the cardboard carton of shakes and the bag of fries in his front basket, the greasy burger bag exploded upon contact with the ground, ripping open and tossing meat patties, small chunks of onion, and lettuce and tomato all over the side of the street. He had made it almost half of the way home.

To this day, I envision my brother reconstructing the sandwiches as best he could while pulling cinders and grit from the glutinous mess and then flopping the top bun back in place. With tears in his eyes, instantly replacing the pride he felt only seconds before, and an explanation of it all being carefully formulated in his head, he rode his racer home feeling like a defeated warrior bringing a single rabbit back to feed his tribe after an 8-point buck had eluded him.

Well, our rabbit stew turned-out to be rather tasty! Who doesn’t love a thick milkshake accompanied by fries? Sitting around our red and white, chrome-legged dining table, talking and laughing together, was the cherry-on-the-top, after all. And we were still able to rip open those cute packets, squeeze their contents onto the paper plate, and dip our crispy fries into the sweet tasting   ketchup.

Life’s lessons touched all of us that day—so long ago. With a twist of fate, Ronnie learned that pride can be fleeting when humility knocks on your door. Mom realized that rewarding her son’s best efforts meant as much as if he had successfully accomplished the mission. Her love and understanding put things in their proper order. Respect for my older brother rose quite a few notches as I began to understand that life can get into the way of practical thinking more often then we thought. And, we all understood the importance of family just a little bit better as we sat around the table that evening, together.

This story is meant to be continued…

Copyright © 2022 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

AN OLD FASHIONED SUNDAY DRIVE

A series of essays....

SILVER BEACH CAROUSEL IN ST. JOSEPH, MICHIGAN

  Photo Courtesy of www.silverbeachcarousel.com



....as seen through my eyes!

My story is lovingly dedicated to fond family memories, traveling the backroads before highways and freeways, and to my parents, Olga and Jack.

By: Jacqueline E. Hughes

Today is ideal for an old fashioned Sunday drive with the family all together, my Dad at the wheel, and believing life is good; life is filled with hope!

The warm, sunny day holds the promise of excitement and laughter. Mom slides into the passenger seat and picks a bit of lint off of her coral clam-diggers and adjusts the collar of her crisp white, sleeveless blouse. A smile spreads across her freckled face as a wisp of red hair sneaks out from the crisscrossed bobby-pins at her temple. Dad smiles back at her, bronze elbow already extended out of his open window, anxious to get on the road to....anywhere. Destinations are far less important for him than the drive to get there. He loves his cars and pampers them often, inside and out. My Dad makes classics out of every car he owns. My brother and I are seated in the ‘pre-buckle period’ back seat with ants in our pants (cotton shorts), anxious to feel the wind blow directly in our faces from the opened windows once we get on the two-lane backroads of Indiana and Michigan. 

Seated directly behind a parent, my brother and I dream of sugary confections much like on Christmas Eve as we’re tucked in our beds, having visions of sugar plums dancing in our heads. In this case, the warm, sunny day conjures images of snow cones, the shaved ice doused in neon colored syrup, pink and blue swirls of cotton candy adhered to a white paper cone, blowing in a Lake Michigan breeze, or waiting in line at the Bonnie Doon Drive-In for the promised strawberry milk shake. No food is to be consumed within the confines of this sleek automobile today. Dad has his own set of rules when it comes to the possibility of spilling a frosty (sticky sweet) bottle of Coca-Cola anywhere near the cloth sections of his color-coordinated vinyl/cloth seats. My brother ruined that luxury for us the day yellow mustard squirted out from his McDonald’s hamburger and landed on the powder blue cloth between his legs. Rules are rules and we adjusted quickly. Besides, riding in that backseat on any given day is a privilege we never wish to forfeit for any reason.

Pulling out of our driveway on Milburn Boulevard in Mishawaka, Dad proceeds north on Ironwoood Drive, straddling the Mishawaka, South Bend line and brushing past my favorite place, Potawatomi Park and Zoo, where we enjoy watching the Fourth of July firework display each summer. No time to stop there now. We’re heading out of the city proper and up into Michigan on small roads lined by tall trees endowed with shiny, mature leaves. Placing my head as far back as possible, neck resting on the top of the seat, I stare up and out of the rear window. I can see the sun filtering through the leaves as it forces my eyes to focus on the in and out, drifting, and hypnotically charged dance high above us. I feel so calm and happy playing this game until my brother asks if I want to play the alphabet game where we follow through the letters while spotting words along the roadside that begin with A, B, C, and so on. Mom asks to join in. Happily, we say yes. Apple Orchard. Berrien Springs. Camping Sites....! Dad strums the fingertips of his left hand along the outside of his door and expertly holds the steering wheel with his right hand. We keep rhythm to his strumming as the Chevy glides smoothly along the country road.

At this point, my brother and I don’t even care what our ultimate destination is. About the only thing that might make us think about stopping the pleasant rhythm of this family excursion would be hunger itself. No, starvation to be more precise. Maybe we can stop at McDonald’s for a burger and fries? Mom tells us that all kids seem to be starving even though they’re not. You both had a hearty breakfast not long ago. You’ll just have to wait a little while longer...that’s all. My impatient brother begins to tease me, out of his own frustration, I suppose. But, when I begin to retaliate, Mom simply turns around and gives both of us her best ‘steely-eyed’ Mom look. Not long afterwards, Dad pulls into an area we’re happily familiar with and, with his chin held high, begins to scour the parking lot for a special place to park his car with an emphasis on staying as far away from other cars as possible. At this point, my brother and I are bouncing like baby kangaroos in the back because we realize that Dad is parking at Silver Beach Amusement Park along the sandy shores of Lake Michigan and the fun is about to begin. Suddenly, all of the cotton candy, salt water taffy, hot dogs, popcorn, and stomach churning rides were practically ours for the taking! 

The sun-dappled, lazy backroads paved the way to St. Joseph, Michigan. Dad’s powder blue and white Chevrolet Bel-Air certainly got us there in style. Mom gave us yet another lesson in patience and humility. This Sunday afternoon is guaranteed to be a huge success as Mom and Dad hold hands and my brother and I walk/run towards the colorful carousel and all the excitement a kid can imagine.

Later that evening, around the time the sun seemingly melts into the deepest realms of my beloved Lake Michigan and my parents have saved us from an almost certain sugar catastrophe, I find comfort from the one person least likely to give it. Resting my weary head on my brother’s lap to nap as we backtrack down the same roads now enveloped within evening shadows, my heart sings. I close my weary eyes and know that family keeps me safe and sound. 

Copyright © 2019 by Jacqueline E. Hughes

All rights reserved