The oldest surviving McDonald’s, in Downey, California

My Real Memoir: An Ode to Hamburgers and Dads

Until I was seven, the longest walks I ever took were to a unique little burger joint called “McDonald’s.” Mommandad counted every penny in those days, and it was usually the only “restaurant” we could afford. Plus, our tiny, novice-level tract home was just blocks away, so we could walk there together. And since I wasn’t allowed to cross the street on my own, I considered it a grand adventure.

We eventually learned our inimitable little bistro was actually a second McDonald’s franchise inspired by the original in San Bernardino. But it became the model for every ensuing fast-food stand in the known universe. It still features the original double arches and Speedee the animated neon chef.

More importantly, though, it was where I learned to order a hamburger the correct way, “with mustard only.”

The way Dad did.

But we lived in a bigger-ish tract home now, in suburbo-sapien-booming Orange County. As a newspaper dealer, my father worked seven days a week, so “just-me-and-Dad” moments were almost exclusively tied to the newspaper biz.

Ticky-tacky tracts were popping up everywhere, each with a brand-new lawn just waiting to sprout, and a newlywed couple just waiting to subscribe to the Herald-Express. So, every other week, Dad would round up his most enterprising paperboys, which included me, and we’d knock on front doors. Think of us as younger, cuter Jehovah’s Witnesses.

By now, my tranformation from shy kid to “clever kid” had turned me into a quick-talking hambone with an irresistible grin (practice makes perfect). Result? I nearly always claimed the night’s “Most New Subscribers” bonus. Which was great, but putting money in my piggy bank wasn’t my goal—it was putting the look of pride on my father’s face.

Afterward, Dad would take us to a McDonald’s knock-off called Sam’s Burgers, where I’d order a cheeseburger “with mustard-only.”

Just like Dad.

We’d eat and laugh, just me and Dad, and, oh yeah, the other boys. But honestly? It seemed like no one else was even there.

Hamburgers aren’t my favorite food anymore. Although, I do appreciate a well-grilled gourmet edition with fresh and inventive toppings. But every now and then, I’ll order a greasy burger-stand burger “with mustard only.” Because when I do, somewhere deep in the Magic 8-Ball window of my memory, it says,

“Just me and Dad.”