Dad takes us to McDonald's once a year. It's almost like Christmas.
In the front yard one evening, my little brother Rick brags to the neighbor kids. "And on Saturday," he shoves his hands in his pockets filled with his own importance, "we're eating at McDonald's."
Eating at McDonald's caps a magical week in summer that coincides with Dad's annual vacation. Early in the week we pile into the station wagon to take a trip to the mountains. We don't go far - just 35 miles up and barely past the foothills to Central City, an old touristy mining town. On another day, Dad treats us to an afternoon at Elitches, Denver's ancient amusement park. Finally, we finish the whole week off with dinner at McDonald's.
"How many did you say?" the server behind the counter gapes when Dad orders 28 hamburgers.
And so ends the best week of the whole year.
Dad is the district manager for Sealtest Dairy. He makes a good living - for a guy with an averaged sized family, anyway. Dad's salary, though, doesn't stretch quite far enough for ten kids. When Dad acquires a real estate license to sell houses on weekends, we hardly ever see him at all. He and Mom are adamant, however, about giving us that one week in summer. We have never taken a family vacation, never eaten at a real restaurant, and aside from a trip to the mountains once a year, never ventured out of our own neighborhood.
Then the summer after I turn 12, a miracle occurs.
Dad must travel to Pennsylvania, the state in which he was born and raised, for business. My grandmother and Uncle Carl, who live in Pittsburgh, persuade Dad to bring Mom and all of us to Pennsylvania. Dad's business offers to pay half the family air fares, and Dad scrapes together the rest. We are nearly beside ourselves with excitement. None of us has ever been on a plane.
TWA kindly seats us all together, and Mom frantically tries to contain our excitement as we experiment with click-on lights, oxygen vents and seat recliners. "I would hate to turn this plane around," she warns us with a steely look.
The flight is everything we could hope for and more. After landing, we take two taxis to Grandma and Uncle Carl's, and our first view of Pittsburgh is breathtaking. The city rises before us in a halo of light.
Grandma Brown and Uncle Carl reside in a very old apartment building in the middle of the city. In the courtyard, Mick nudges the rest of us and points to the ancient fountain. Two naked stone boys pee into the basin. My brothers snort, but Uncle Carl ignores them and ushers us into the apartment. He and Grandma Brown are very glad to see us but make it clear immediately that there are rules to be followed.
"Don't touch the the walls or the doorways as you walk through," Grandma orders us sternly. We notice right away all the couches and chairs have been covered in plastic. It's clear that Grandma and Uncle Carl aren't used to crowds of kids.
"And don't use the elevator, children," Grandma issues another order. "It's very old, and it's only for adults."
We glance at each other. The first chance we get, we plan to take that elevator for a joy ride.
In the morning, Dad departs for his business trip in Harrisburg, and Mom and all of us are left alone with Grandma and Uncle Carl. We discover there are more rules - no running in the halls or in the courtyard. The windows are never to be opened. If we feel the need for exercise, Uncle Carl will march us around the block.
It's not that we don't have ANY fun. Uncle Carl is the public relations guy for the Pittsburgh Symphony. He treats us to a night at the symphony and another night at the ballet. We throw coins into the Three Rivers and traipse up and down the curious streets of downtown Pittsburgh. In the stifling, orderly apartment, however, we nearly die of boredom.
The afternoon that Uncle Carl scolds us for ditching him and sneaking onto the elevator, Mom finally has had enough. She bursts into tears in the kitchen, and we all feel terrible. With uncharacteristic sensitivity, Grandma saves the day.
"Patti," she orders my mother, "take the babies and go have yourself a nap in the back bedroom. And you children," she looks at us, "are going to a movie."
We can hardly believe this new turn of events. Even Uncle Carl is thrilled to have us out of his hair. He counts out enough cash for us to see Jungle Book and gives us simple directions to the theater. My brothers and I find it easily.
The movie, however, is not Jungle Book. It's a strange flick called Planet of the Apes. We recognize Charlton Heston from the Bible movie, but these apes are like no apes we've ever seen. Nevertheless, we sit in the lovely air-conditioned theater and munch our popcorn contentedly. To our surprise, it's a double feature. The next movie, though, is very odd indeed. An unhappily married couple disects their life together. Joe, Mick, Rick and I decide we're thoroughly bored and rise to go. Just then, the screen erupts with naked people. We gape at each other in astonishment. The only naked adult we've ever seen is Dad scurrying from the shower to his room with the evening newspaper shielding his privates. We slowly lower ourselves back into our seats. There is no question of leaving now. A golden opportunity like this will never present itself again.
Halfway through the movie, though, we begin to feel uncomfortable. After you've seen a couple of naked people, you've pretty much seen them all.
We fully intend to hurry right back to the apartment, but the walk back takes us over a bridge high above the railroad tracks. Mick pauses to spit over the rails. And an amazing thing happens. We're so high above the tracks that Mick's spit arches mid-way in the same way a beautiful baseball curves around home plate. Just like that we're all spitting over the railing mesmerized by the beautiful arcs of our saliva. Then we hear a shout. Startled, we look up to see Uncle Carl storming angrily toward us.
"What are you doing here?" he demands.
Joe finds his voice first. "Did you know your spit curves up here?" he offers helpfully.
Uncle Carl is enraged. "Do you know what time it is? Didn't you know we'd be worried?"
It's no use lying. We might be able to fool Mom, but Uncle Carl is like a detective investigating our every move. When he discovers we sat through not only Planet of the Apes but also a very adult second feature, he is speechless with horror and hurries us home in deathly silence.
Mom is not nearly so angry as we fear. A good nap does her a world of good. She almost rolls her eyes as Uncle Carl describes our heathen adventures. She tries to scold us, but it's not a very convincing scolding. We persuade ourselves to be very quiet and very good and slide quietly onto the plastic covered furniture. Dad's coming back tomorrow, and we can ride out Uncle Carl's wrath for one more evening.
The next day, we are very glad to see Dad and very glad to return to our shabby, wall-smudged, plastic free house on Eudora Street. The Denver air is clear and dry, all the windows are open, and we romp through the house and the yard like wild savages.
In the days and weeks to come, however, we spend time thinking and talking about our one and only family vacation. Uncle Carl tried hard to show us all the glorious Pittsburgh sights and broaden our horizons. It wasn't ALL bad, we decide. In fact, it wasn't bad at all. We rode in our first airplane, heard a famous symphony and threw coins into the Three Rivers - all in a strange city we'd never even dreamed of visiting.
Best of all, we got to see a movie with naked people.
In the front yard one evening, my little brother Rick brags to the neighbor kids. "And on Saturday," he shoves his hands in his pockets filled with his own importance, "we're eating at McDonald's."
 |
| Clockwise from top left: Carry, Tommy, Terri, Mick, Rick and Mary. |
Eating at McDonald's caps a magical week in summer that coincides with Dad's annual vacation. Early in the week we pile into the station wagon to take a trip to the mountains. We don't go far - just 35 miles up and barely past the foothills to Central City, an old touristy mining town. On another day, Dad treats us to an afternoon at Elitches, Denver's ancient amusement park. Finally, we finish the whole week off with dinner at McDonald's.
"How many did you say?" the server behind the counter gapes when Dad orders 28 hamburgers.
And so ends the best week of the whole year.
Dad is the district manager for Sealtest Dairy. He makes a good living - for a guy with an averaged sized family, anyway. Dad's salary, though, doesn't stretch quite far enough for ten kids. When Dad acquires a real estate license to sell houses on weekends, we hardly ever see him at all. He and Mom are adamant, however, about giving us that one week in summer. We have never taken a family vacation, never eaten at a real restaurant, and aside from a trip to the mountains once a year, never ventured out of our own neighborhood.
Then the summer after I turn 12, a miracle occurs.
Dad must travel to Pennsylvania, the state in which he was born and raised, for business. My grandmother and Uncle Carl, who live in Pittsburgh, persuade Dad to bring Mom and all of us to Pennsylvania. Dad's business offers to pay half the family air fares, and Dad scrapes together the rest. We are nearly beside ourselves with excitement. None of us has ever been on a plane.
TWA kindly seats us all together, and Mom frantically tries to contain our excitement as we experiment with click-on lights, oxygen vents and seat recliners. "I would hate to turn this plane around," she warns us with a steely look.
The flight is everything we could hope for and more. After landing, we take two taxis to Grandma and Uncle Carl's, and our first view of Pittsburgh is breathtaking. The city rises before us in a halo of light.
Grandma Brown and Uncle Carl reside in a very old apartment building in the middle of the city. In the courtyard, Mick nudges the rest of us and points to the ancient fountain. Two naked stone boys pee into the basin. My brothers snort, but Uncle Carl ignores them and ushers us into the apartment. He and Grandma Brown are very glad to see us but make it clear immediately that there are rules to be followed.
"Don't touch the the walls or the doorways as you walk through," Grandma orders us sternly. We notice right away all the couches and chairs have been covered in plastic. It's clear that Grandma and Uncle Carl aren't used to crowds of kids.
"And don't use the elevator, children," Grandma issues another order. "It's very old, and it's only for adults."
We glance at each other. The first chance we get, we plan to take that elevator for a joy ride.
In the morning, Dad departs for his business trip in Harrisburg, and Mom and all of us are left alone with Grandma and Uncle Carl. We discover there are more rules - no running in the halls or in the courtyard. The windows are never to be opened. If we feel the need for exercise, Uncle Carl will march us around the block.
It's not that we don't have ANY fun. Uncle Carl is the public relations guy for the Pittsburgh Symphony. He treats us to a night at the symphony and another night at the ballet. We throw coins into the Three Rivers and traipse up and down the curious streets of downtown Pittsburgh. In the stifling, orderly apartment, however, we nearly die of boredom.
The afternoon that Uncle Carl scolds us for ditching him and sneaking onto the elevator, Mom finally has had enough. She bursts into tears in the kitchen, and we all feel terrible. With uncharacteristic sensitivity, Grandma saves the day.
"Patti," she orders my mother, "take the babies and go have yourself a nap in the back bedroom. And you children," she looks at us, "are going to a movie."
We can hardly believe this new turn of events. Even Uncle Carl is thrilled to have us out of his hair. He counts out enough cash for us to see Jungle Book and gives us simple directions to the theater. My brothers and I find it easily.
The movie, however, is not Jungle Book. It's a strange flick called Planet of the Apes. We recognize Charlton Heston from the Bible movie, but these apes are like no apes we've ever seen. Nevertheless, we sit in the lovely air-conditioned theater and munch our popcorn contentedly. To our surprise, it's a double feature. The next movie, though, is very odd indeed. An unhappily married couple disects their life together. Joe, Mick, Rick and I decide we're thoroughly bored and rise to go. Just then, the screen erupts with naked people. We gape at each other in astonishment. The only naked adult we've ever seen is Dad scurrying from the shower to his room with the evening newspaper shielding his privates. We slowly lower ourselves back into our seats. There is no question of leaving now. A golden opportunity like this will never present itself again.
Halfway through the movie, though, we begin to feel uncomfortable. After you've seen a couple of naked people, you've pretty much seen them all.
We fully intend to hurry right back to the apartment, but the walk back takes us over a bridge high above the railroad tracks. Mick pauses to spit over the rails. And an amazing thing happens. We're so high above the tracks that Mick's spit arches mid-way in the same way a beautiful baseball curves around home plate. Just like that we're all spitting over the railing mesmerized by the beautiful arcs of our saliva. Then we hear a shout. Startled, we look up to see Uncle Carl storming angrily toward us.
"What are you doing here?" he demands.
Joe finds his voice first. "Did you know your spit curves up here?" he offers helpfully.
Uncle Carl is enraged. "Do you know what time it is? Didn't you know we'd be worried?"
It's no use lying. We might be able to fool Mom, but Uncle Carl is like a detective investigating our every move. When he discovers we sat through not only Planet of the Apes but also a very adult second feature, he is speechless with horror and hurries us home in deathly silence.
Mom is not nearly so angry as we fear. A good nap does her a world of good. She almost rolls her eyes as Uncle Carl describes our heathen adventures. She tries to scold us, but it's not a very convincing scolding. We persuade ourselves to be very quiet and very good and slide quietly onto the plastic covered furniture. Dad's coming back tomorrow, and we can ride out Uncle Carl's wrath for one more evening.
The next day, we are very glad to see Dad and very glad to return to our shabby, wall-smudged, plastic free house on Eudora Street. The Denver air is clear and dry, all the windows are open, and we romp through the house and the yard like wild savages.
In the days and weeks to come, however, we spend time thinking and talking about our one and only family vacation. Uncle Carl tried hard to show us all the glorious Pittsburgh sights and broaden our horizons. It wasn't ALL bad, we decide. In fact, it wasn't bad at all. We rode in our first airplane, heard a famous symphony and threw coins into the Three Rivers - all in a strange city we'd never even dreamed of visiting.
Best of all, we got to see a movie with naked people.
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