This Hertel Avenue litter triggered an instant memory flashback:
Hey Steve-o, here’s a couple bucks. Go to the store and get your ol’man a pack of smokes. Your grandmother, too. And get yourself a candy bar, ok?
Even at 6 years old, Dad didn’t have to tell me to get him Parliament 100s or Grandma Kools.
There was never a note that I remember… and never a problem so long as I went to the corner deli and got the right brand of smokes. ( I tried to buy Marlboro for an uncle once and they literally chased me out of the store. Hahahaha.)
That was Grandma Cichon with the Kools.
Grandma Coyle, like my dad, smoked Parliaments. But the only thing she’d send us to B-Kwik for regularly was rolls for dinner.
Sometimes we’d stay late at Grandma Coyle’s house, and we’d take our baths there.
It fills my heart even now to think about walking into the living room on Hayden Street in our pajamas, and seeing Grandma smiling as we walked in, all freshly scrubbed.
She smiled every time we walked into a room… and if that isn’t the greatest thing ever.
I’m so glad I decided to have a beer tonight– and that it took me to this story.