24 Mar Slice of Life: It’s Not About the Hoagies #SOL19 #TWTBlog
Hey, there’s Subway. We could stop there for lunch.
Yeah. Why, do you not like Subway?
It’s fine. I just didn’t take you for a Subway kind of person. Hoagies don’t come to mind when I think of you.
I laugh. She isn’t wrong. I am more of a salad person. The thing is, my attachment to Subway has little to do with the hoagies.
Friday nights in the summer meant boat night with my dad. I would wait in the driveway, pacing, until I saw his car pull in the driveway. I knew as soon as he put that briefcase down and changed his clothes, our night would begin. Just the two of us for the night.
You see, my dad bought a boat. No one in my family liked the boat except me. In retrospect I am not even sure my dad liked the boat and I think I may have liked spending time with my dad on the boat more than I actually liked the boat. He, however, was determined to make this boat a part of our lives. This is how the Friday Boat Night tradition began … I was his only hope.
First stop on boat night was always Subway. I remember ordering my sandwich exactly how I wanted it – extra, extra pickles and black olives. I chose my chips carefully each time, a dessert and a soda. It felt so extravagant. Then we made our way to the boat. Sleeping bags, pillows, food and our radio in hand. It was all we needed.
Once we settled in, we set out for a sunset ride on the lake. My dad would let me drive and urge me to go faster and faster. I can still feel the wind blowing through my hair and hear my shouts of glee as the boat leaped over the wakes and waves. My dad would take over the wheel and pick the perfect spot to throw down anchor. We set up dinner and ate as we watched the display of colors unveil with the setting of the sun. The peace and tranquility bonded us. Words were not needed, but I knew this was my time. My time to share my hopes, my worries, my plans and my life. Some nights he shared his as well. He was totally mine for those 45 minutes. I could pace our conversation with the sun slowly dipping into the horizon.
As the stars slowly emerged, we pulled up anchor and made our way back to the dock. Sleeping bags zipped and the Yankees (or the Mets) playing on the radio. I drifted off to sleep to the familiar sounds of baseball as I counted the stars and anticipated my forty-five minutes on the horizon.
I guess I’m not a hoagie person. Subway just brings back memories … it must be the extra pickles.
Some things are too precious to explain.
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