Special days

 The convertible top was down on my mom's 1949 Plymouth. Just a car back then, but how I wish I had it today. It was just me and her on that warm summer day as we drove to get me some school clothes; I was outgrowing everything I had. Patsy Cline was playing on the radio, and her scarf blew in the breeze as she sang along.

With three kids close in age, it was rare to have alone time with her, but when we did, it was always special to me. Going into town was a treat in itself. I got to look in store windows as we walked together, holding hands and pointing out things we liked, but money was tight, so we headed for the men’s and boys’ store. Back then, the store clerks, as we called them, were helpful in ways not often seen today. Mr. Klein owned the store for over thirty years and knew just about everybody in town, calling them by name. He had a yellow measuring tape draped around his shoulder to ensure we had the correct sizes. When it came to pants, he made sure there was plenty of length sewn in so Mom could let them down as I continued to grow.

With some shirts, socks, and underwear, we were all set and said goodbye to Mr. Klein, heading to our favorite soda fountain for a chocolate shake and an egg salad sandwich that I still think about. In the basement of a big department store was the shoe department. Once again, a friendly clerk measured your feet while you stood up and placed your foot into a silver contraption that looked like a giant shoe, allowing the clerk to adjust the width and size. Mom picked out a pair of brown tie shoes, asking me if I liked them. I said yes; what kid wouldn’t want new shoes? Besides, there were only brown or black to choose from. Next came a pair of sneakers for gym class, and again, I had a choice of red or white high-tops, better known as red ball jets.

Once shopping was completed, we carried the bags to the car, where Mom locked them in the trunk. Then we walked to the river and sat on a bench, watching boats pass by as the day wound down. I picked a flower from the grass a weed, really but she smiled a big smile when I handed it to her. She held onto it the whole way to the car, placing it on the dashboard when we got there.

We pulled into our driveway, where my dad and sisters greeted us, asking if we had gotten lost. At supper, we told everyone about our day, with my sisters asking when it would be their turn to go shopping with Mom. Dad chimed in, saying he needed to make some money first before we spent it all.

I’ll never forget the days I spent with Mom, as well as the other times with my parents. Going to the barber shop on Saturdays with Dad, grocery shopping with Mom to help with the bags, and shooting hoops with Dad before supper were all cherished moments. I learned how to wash and wax the car, cut the grass, and shovel snow properly, along with Dad teaching me how to shine my shoes and comb my hair.

My memories of my youth and my love for both Mom and Dad have shaped me into who I am today in many ways. If you were to look in my closet, you’d find one pair of brown shoes, one pair of black shoes, and a pair of red ball jets. 

Mike, 2025