Mommandad on their Wedding Day – The world’s oldest surviving McDonald’s
My Real Memoir
Even when my father wasn’t there, he was there. He was the gravity that kept us from flying off into oblivion. Which is to say, into the sort of poverty he and Mom had endured during the Great Depression. But he was out for more than mere security. Dad was ambitious to a fault. He was determined to attain all a man could attain in life, and take Mom and me with him. Mom went gleefully. I went with a blend of pride and fear. Why? Because he was determined (at the sagely age of 20-something) that I attain all I should attain as well. So his affection always seemed to have strings attached.
WWII Had Ended Before Dad Got There
Nevertheless, he was proud of his Marine Corps training. And so, when I turned five, he bestowed upon me the incomparable benefits of his boot camp experience. (“Oorah!”) He woke me up by singing reveille in my ear at 6 a.m. And if I didn’t respond immediately, he splashed water in my face, and shouted, “Up and at ‘em!” I failed. (Mom let me go back to sleep after he left for work.) He also showed me how to make my bed so drumhead-tight he could “bounce a quarter off it!” I failed. (Mom remade it later.)
Still, Dad made me laugh, too. A lot. And he taught me how to do things, sometimes perfectly, sometimes not. Like when he bought me a boomerang and insisted on first showing me how to throw it. I never saw it again. (Presumably, it made its way back to Australia). I was disappointed, but secretly glad he too could fail at something.
Our First Little Home…
…had a tiny “grove” of baby orange trees. It was doubtful they’d survive the winter, but Dad was committed! He fertilized them, staked them to make them grow straight, and threw lots of water at them (“Up and at ‘em!”).
So, I decided to reward him for his efforts by gathering up all the “ripe” oranges that had fallen to the ground, and proudly presenting them to Dad (they were rotting, but what did I know?). He seemed confused at first, but then smiled, and said, “Thank you, son.” And I knew I’d done well. Only years later did I realize everything I gave him—the oranges, the box I put them in, even the used card—already belonged to him.
I Wasn’t the Only One…
…to reward Dad for his efforts. The moment he’d gotten his driver’s license back, the Herald-Express offered him a newspaper dealership in a squeaky new suburb on the outer edge of Los Angeles County.
A month later, Mommandad took me to our favorite bistro, a little one-of-a-kind hamburger stand called “McDonald’s.” (The McDonald’s in Downey, California, was only the second one ever built). After numbing me with a chocolate shake, Dad announced, “Well, we’ve sold our home!” I blinked uncomprehendingly. “This is big, honey,” Mom added, “our lives are going to change!” And how right she was. Few things change kids as much as moving. And their parents too.
Dad’s eyes had a light in them I’d never seen before.
To read My Real Memoir from the start, click here. To read the next episode, click here.
We grew up in a much more stable world, not because of government but because of family. I doubt your dad would have allowed you to bed rot all weekend with your iPhone lol and I love that you had a momanddad as your safety net. We took it for granted but it is a treasure that too many young people today have no experience of. Dad over there, Mom over there, raised by grandparents, or one grandparent, two moms, two dads…if we want to heal our world, we need to rebuild the traditional family.
🧡
Now you have me hooked, Mitch. My dad died when I was ten, so I’m going to be interested in how it goes from here.
🧡
You have lovely memories of simpler times. The first and second McDonald’s were probably destination locations! 🙂
They were, Nancy. The McDonald’s in Downey was the first one built after the original in San Bernardino, California, and is the oldest one still in existence.
Right then little Mitch, up and at ’em…
;>)
My dad went through the Great Depression and survived WW II. He taught me many lessons. Many of them painful. Never as painful as what he went through. Great story. Loved reading this.
Thanks, Michael.
Wonderful memories! And before “McDonalds” became McDonalds no less!
Yep!
This is a great memory and tribute to your dad and mom. It’s interesting how a father’s love often takes different forms than a mother’s. I never thought anything I did was good enough for my dad, while my mom was always reassuring. Thanks for sharing Mitch. You have way with words!
Thanks, David!
Mitch! Car models in the pic look so strong.
“Only years later did I realize everything I gave him—the oranges, the box I put them in, even the used card—already belonged to him.” ✨❤️ Love this!
🧡
And your dad has left that light in your eyes too.
Thanks for sharing your childhood memories, as always with a smile.
Have a wonderful day!
You too, Bernie! (Or do you prefer Bernadette?)
Pingback: Even When My Father Wasn’t There… – QuietMomentsWithGod
Beautiful post. Thank you so much for sharing!
I agree with your last statement about moving. Moving at a young age definitely changed me. It invited more courage to try intimidating things in my life. Change doesn’t feel dreadful for me nor does being alone. I believe the experience of moving to a new place invites bravery in one’s heart.
It’s certainly can, Lina. 🧡 It did for me.
Beautiful post.. very honest
Thank you, Kaycee.
It’s those little moments we cherish 😊. This reminded me of a guy I used to take care of, he was used to his army days. He stuck to a specific schedule still at 92 years old. If you didn’t make his bed right you had to redo it. Walking in to a 92 yr old man doing pushups really put things in a different perspective for me.
Apparently, discipline is the secret to long life, Mel! ;>)
Mitch, you probably already know this, but your dad was my surrogate father. I will never forget the day he called the house and asked my mom is it was ok to take me to L.A. to see the premiere of a new movie. I believe the movie was “How the West was Won”. I rode with him for years spotting papers through out La. Mirada, Whittier and surrounding cities. I have so many wonderful memories of him. Because my father walked out on us when I was 12, and I was the oldest of 5, he made a great substitute dad. Even getting up at 0330 in the morning on Sundays I looked forward to. Your mom was a wonderful person to. We stayed in contact with her until after our first born. She brought our son a beautiful blanket. No I dont remember dad ever talking about the Marines, I also enlisted in 1967, and did a year in Vietnam, not sure if his stories would have made any sense then. I remember the plastic dog he got for the living room, called it his perfect companion, no fuss, no muss no hair or smell, the perfect dog pet. I also remember the day you called me, the first words out of your mouth, ” Mark, dad passed away today “. I had brought the girl I was dating at the time to visit him just a few weeks earlier. I couldn’t believe how crushed I was at losing him. Mitch, you had a national treasure as a father, I would have given all my time with my father just to have a couple of years with yours. Please keep adding to this memoir. Just a question, did you ever hear from Dick Hall after he moved to Montana? He and Bill were the best of friends for so many years. Take care, looking forward to the next installment. Mark
Mark, great to hear from you. I’m touched to read about your relationship with Dad. I knew you worked for him, but didn’t realize how close you two were. The further I got into my teens, the further Dad and I were at odds with one another. That’s not unusual for teenagers, of course, but it was also because he thought my artsy-fartsy pursuits (drama, rock band, etc.) would never enable me to make a living. While you, it seems, were someone who welcomed his counsel and kindness.
P.S. You sent a Facebook message on May 7, but Facebook said it was “unable to show it.” Try again?
What a post, Mitch! I echo you in terms of my own father. He’s no longer here, yet again, he is. I admire your father’s compass direction. I loved your memory of the early form of McDonalds. Such a wonderful image. And then, you give your father oranges, and also, I like to imagine all readers received one as well.
Now, down to business. Your mention of your father’s USMC rigor summoned up these lines (edited of course).
“What is this? What the heck is this?” Sgt. Hartman yelled.
“Sir, a jelly donut, sir!” Pvt. Pyle barked.
“A jelly donut? Is chow allowed in the barracks, Pvt. Pyle?”
(exeunt all)
;>)
What a great story about your dad, Mitch. He gave you much in life.
Pingback: On Being a Real-Life Father - Mitch TeemleyMitch Teemley