My brother suggested getting him a new pair of golf shoes, but my father, like many people, is very particular about his shoes and how they intimately fit his feet. Golf shoes were out.
Our agreed upon meeting time was rolling around, and my brother and I still had nothing but a card for our father. Granted, it was one of those fancy $3+ cards, but we still felt empty-handed. Partly out of laziness and partly out of confusion, we arrived at the Japanese restaurant in San Leandro carrying one blue envelope between us.
After we finished our dinner, we drove into Hayward/Castro Valley looking for a Starbucks. Of course, in today's caffeinated society, this was a fairly easy task.
Readers might not know this, but I grew up in Hayward. I moved to the Central Valley of California when I was in middle school.
We found a Starbucks easily, but it just so happened to be across the street from a restaurant/ice cream parlor from our childhood still called the "Ice Creamery." Dad, my brother, and I decided to forgo the faceless corporation for a nice bowl of nostalgia ice cream.
The three of us closed down the parlor. It was like old times when newly divorced Dad would pick us up for his custody time on Tuesday nights. Ice cream. Video arcades. Dinner out on the town. I felt like I was in elementary school again.
Dinners with my dad and brother are always loud and fun, but today was a reflective moment when I realized how far the three of us have come—as a family. Sometimes it's hard to remember yourself or your family as you were in past; you need a context, a backdrop, or an Ice Creamery.
My brother is a doctor, but he's still the logical son. I am an educator, but I'm still the emotional son. And my father...well, my father is still the moderator dad. And while that may not be as nice as a new pair of golf shoes, I think our Father's Day (one day early) was a success: tonight was an homage to the Tuesday-Night Trio.
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Nice!
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