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Short story about my Dad before his death in 1962.

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Stories

Friday Nights Reserved for Dad

YUma, AZ

Vincent A. Carvajal Jr. with George V. Carvajal (son), Pamela Carvajal Drapala (daughter) late 1950's


December 2, 2K

Friday Nights Reserved for Dad ©

Pamela Carvajal Drapala

 

A green 1959 Chevy

driving down Yuma Main Street,

stop signs, trucks and cars,

pedestrians beat their feet

along the sidewalks of the street.

Brother George and I take in all the

Friday nightlife with our brown eyes.

“The Hole in the Wall” food stand,

Hamburgers much too large to hold

with tiny five-year old hands.

The taste of the most delicious

hamburgers dressed up in 

mustard, mayo, catsup 

pickles, shredded lettuce

diced onions and a

juicy tomato slice.

A large cherry coke

to drink with lots of ice.

So much in sight for a child to view

In my eyes, everything looks brand new.

Yuma’s simple Kress’ Five and Dime

I do not know it . . .

Daddy is running out of time.

Long, colorful balloons 

blown into silly shapes.

To my brother and I   

Our dear Daddy buys us

the most expensive prize.

The Art Deco Yuma Theatre emitting

the aroma of freshly made popcorn.

Inside, teenaged girls dressed 

in poodle skirts with bobby socks

selling small children like me huge,

cherry “Charms” lollypops.

Cherish cinema films we all watch.

Time passes on Daddy’s wristwatch.

Times like this turned out to be

Daddy’s most priceless gift, you see.

Daddy died two years later

and was terribly missed. 

However, my precious childhood

memories with Daddy were made

of nights as these.

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