The local teeny-bop station where we lived was sponsored by 7-eleven. Each week the D.J. would debut a new flavor of Slurpee. The word would go out across the airwaves and I would get so excited waiting to hear what crazy concoction they'd come up with on Friday. It became an event for our little family. A small inexpensive treat for a hard working Mom to indulge her two kids.
The Westward Fire Department whistle would blow at six o'clock, which signaled that Mom was on her way home. On Friday night’s she usually had plans for cards or a movie later in the evening with friends. My little brother and I would be fed, ready and waiting on the steps when she arrived. The champagne beige Pontiac Catalina pulling in the driveway, there she was smiling at us from behind the wheel, sporting her turquoise and white striped shift uniform. Bounding across the little yard, piling in to the front seat beside her. The radio was always blasting the latest 60’s hits, windows down. Mom and I singing along, Dicky in his summer weight p.j.’s, already prepped for bedtime.
Over to the 7-eleven on Congress, just before Belvedere. “I’ll have bubblegum flavor!” This was the pre-self serve era, when the machine was still behind the counter. The guy who manned the cash register served up your ICEE in a waxed paper cup- no dome lid for topping off here- no mixing flavors- two choices- the flavor of the week or COLA. Mom always got Cola. We each chose a special treat, a Pixie STIX for brother and NOW N LATERS for me.
Taking the scenic drive home down Cherry Rd. through Belvedere Homes, sipping Slurpee’s and working on a sugar high. The smell of trimmed green hedges and sounds of neighborhood kids out playing on sidewalks at dusk, weekend just beginning.
Back down Seminole, to the other side. Unpaved roads, wooded lots and hound dogs lying in the shellrock in front of the neighbors house. They slowly saunter out of the way of the pretty twenty something single Mom with her two precious charges. She parks the big Pontiac and carries her little guy up the steps of the little pink house. I trail behind slurping up the last of my Friday night treat.
It was the small things. Thanks for the memory Mom.