My dad had the coolest, green Chevrolet Chevelle when I was little. He bought it in 1970, he had told me and he still had it up to the day he died. It didn't run anymore; he had definitely put a lot of money into restoring it, though.
He would take me to get ice cream once a week after school in it. It would be a surprise which day it was-- he wanted to keep me on my toes and give me something to look forward to. If it wasn't him picking me up from school, it was my mom or my grandma. My grandma lived about three blocks away from us, so sometimes they'd employ her for the task.
When my dad would pick me up in the Chevy Chevelle I knew it was going to be a great afternoon. We'd go get ice cream together-- I'd get chocolate chip, he'd get rocky road.
Then, we'd hit the batting cages together. I didn't have to worry about homework until later that night on those afternoons. We'd stay at the batting cages for an hour just hitting balls and talking. My parents got divorced when I was six years old, and I lived mainly with my mom. Those afternoons once a week were so important for us.
My dad would always tell me that he was working on seeing me more than once a week. I really believed him, but as I got older, it was clear it wasn't ever going to be a reality.
Once I hit high school, I think he figured I wouldn't want him around so much, which was not true, and he stopped coming once a week even. We drifted a part when I was in high school. It was sad.
“He would take me to get ice cream once a week after school”