The windshield of the SUV fogged as Owen and I drove past the boarded A&W on Rice Street. It was cold and drizzly for a late April evening. We were on our way to watch Eli play a Little Baseball scrimmage. I wiped the windshield with the single Dollar Store glove that remained in the truck. The rest of the winter outerwear was already tucked into the front closet – not to be revealed until November.
“Owen, look! My A&W went out of business,” I whined.
“No mom, it’s always closed during the winter,” he corrected. It was a favorite summer spot for the boys to grab a quick cold root beer float after a game or long bike ride. One of the few drive-up restaurants left in the state.
Wiping a larger spot on the window to get a closer look, the small restaurant was clearly closed for good. The windows were boarded and a “For Lease” sign hung from the front door. My heart sank to think that another landmark from my childhood was about to bulldozed to make room for a shiny new CVS or Jimmy Johns. The landscape of north Rice Street had changed dramatically since I was a kid. And I hated it.
I have very few memories of childhood, yet walks up to the Marketplace with my best friend Kari are cemented in brain. We would scrounge up a few quarters out of my Dad’s top dresser drawer and skip to Dubers Department store to buy Willy Wonka candy. We were so young and life was so simple.
But the A&W had special meaning. It was the special Easter stop. The ritual was the same each year. Mom, Dad, sis Kath and I would attend Good Friday service at Prince of Peace Lutheran Church. The church was tucked just inside the heart of Roseville. Adjacent to central park. We grew up in the traditional Lutheran church. There weren’t many surprises. We sat is the same pew and sang from the same green hymnal week after week, year after year. Good Lutherans always sit in the back of the church. We were no exception.
Prince of Peace wasn’t the glamorous church in Roseville. It was modest and traditional, unlike the other large Lutheran churches that boasted the coveted production of the Passion Play and 5,000 seat sanctuary. As children of the church, we were expected to sit still, pay attention and sing loudly. There was little to entertain us as church is today. No live animals at Palm Sunday service, angels flying through the smoke-filled rafters and Jesus ascending into the sky as my children are accustomed to at church today. Church was simple. We were simple people.
Good Friday service included somber music and quiet prayer as we mourned the death of Jesus Christ our Savior. Tradition included silence as we exited the church and gathered our small family into the baby blue Malibu Classic. Out of respect to Jesus, we girls were strictly forbidden to speak in the car until we arrived home. For me, it wasn’t a problem being a quiet person by nature. Kathy, a bit rowdier by nature, attempted to get me to laugh out loud by making faces at me the entire journey. After a loud snort, my mom would give me ‘the look’ from the front seat. She couldn’t help but smile.
On Good Friday, we never went directly home after service. Dad made the traditional stop to the A&W on Rice Street. The empty gallon jug sat in the front seat between Mom and Dad. There was a 35 cent discount for refilling the root beer jug, so each year my Mom stored the empty vessel with the Easter decoration. Mom would quietly whisper to Dad as we approached Rice Street. “Don’t forget to stop at A&W. We have to make root beer floats while we color eggs.”
We sighed pulling into the oak tree lined street knowing that we only had a few more seconds of silence left to endure. The house smelled of vinegar and hardboiled eggs. My Mom cooked two dozen eggs earlier in the day to make sure that we would have plenty of left overs to make deviled eggs for Easter dinner and a week’s worth of egg salad for my Dad’s lunches.
The evening included the four of us dying eggs and sipping A&W Root beer floats out of tall gold glasses. We giggled wearing goofy bunny ears as we raced to make the most colorful and creative eggs. Kathy was the all time winner of “The Great Colberg Easter Egg Decorator.”
Owen laughed as I told him the story of my childhood as we passed the old restaurant. And I giggled last night as I watched my two sons color eggs with my Dad and Kathy, sipping root beer floats out of the same tall gold glasses. The A&W wasn’t out of a jug, but my Dad wore the Bunny ears and there were plenty of left over eggs for lunch. I hope that these great memories are as wonderful for my sons as they are for me.
See my facebook page for the photos.
