What My Childhood Tasted Like
In the Hallin household, major childhood events were celebrated with a big hug, congratulations, and a special dinner at your restaurant of choice. For my brother Tim and me, that restaurant was always Bonanza! Popcorn shrimp and corn dogs drew us to what I now realize was a fairly run-down family restaurant in town. We would stand in line with our parents and eagerly await our turn to order, staring up to the brightly lit pictures of plates filled with unhealthily appetizing foods.
After our turn in line, we would make our way through the dining room, across what I vaguely remember to be maroon,--or was it forest green?--threadbare carpeting to a small table for four situated right underneath a dim light. Mood lighting, I hear, is used in restaurants to make you order more; evidently, if they were to shed bright, flourescent light on your food, you’d realize how much you were eating and exercise some much-needed self-control. Self-control, however, I did not possess when my plate made its way to the table, heaped with shrimp just up from the fryer. I learned from my father at a young age that lemon juice was a delicious addition to fried seafood; hence, I tended to overindulge, dousing my shrimp in that bitter juice.
Back then, the promise of the special treats we could find in Bonanza!’s was enough of a reward for our good deeds, straight As, or appointment to the school’s Crossing Guard. Today, I realize the real reward was having parents who loved us enough to make those small moments in our life a special occasion. It meant that we mattered, that though we were small, our achievements could be huge.
In later days, after we had moved away to small-town Wisconsin from Minnesotan suburbia, my parents had to find a new restaurant to take the place of Bonanza! Unfortunately, places like Al’s Diner could just never cut it. And the older we grew, the fewer and farther between our family celebrations became, until they felt almost nonexistent thanks to the busy lives of two teenagers. Fortunately, though the dinners stopped, my parents never ceased making me feel important, special, and loved.
My parents shaped who I’ve become, and now, as an adult, it’s my turn to show them how much I care. So, for birthdays, Mothers’ and Fathers’ Day, anniversaries, and more, my husband and I meet my parents at some restaurant of their choice and show them how much they matter to us. Bonanza!’s is gone now, but the days of a loving family gathering around a table, spending time together, is not.
After our turn in line, we would make our way through the dining room, across what I vaguely remember to be maroon,--or was it forest green?--threadbare carpeting to a small table for four situated right underneath a dim light. Mood lighting, I hear, is used in restaurants to make you order more; evidently, if they were to shed bright, flourescent light on your food, you’d realize how much you were eating and exercise some much-needed self-control. Self-control, however, I did not possess when my plate made its way to the table, heaped with shrimp just up from the fryer. I learned from my father at a young age that lemon juice was a delicious addition to fried seafood; hence, I tended to overindulge, dousing my shrimp in that bitter juice.
Back then, the promise of the special treats we could find in Bonanza!’s was enough of a reward for our good deeds, straight As, or appointment to the school’s Crossing Guard. Today, I realize the real reward was having parents who loved us enough to make those small moments in our life a special occasion. It meant that we mattered, that though we were small, our achievements could be huge.
In later days, after we had moved away to small-town Wisconsin from Minnesotan suburbia, my parents had to find a new restaurant to take the place of Bonanza! Unfortunately, places like Al’s Diner could just never cut it. And the older we grew, the fewer and farther between our family celebrations became, until they felt almost nonexistent thanks to the busy lives of two teenagers. Fortunately, though the dinners stopped, my parents never ceased making me feel important, special, and loved.
My parents shaped who I’ve become, and now, as an adult, it’s my turn to show them how much I care. So, for birthdays, Mothers’ and Fathers’ Day, anniversaries, and more, my husband and I meet my parents at some restaurant of their choice and show them how much they matter to us. Bonanza!’s is gone now, but the days of a loving family gathering around a table, spending time together, is not.