Youth Meets Truth

When I was four, my Mom went back to work for the telephone company. My Dad was a regional salesman for a paint company. Dad would drive my Mom to work in the morning and then drop me off at my grandparents’ house for the day. Late in the afternoon Dad would come over after work to visit with Gagee and Gramps and then he and I would go and pick up Mom together. That was our routine for the next two years until I entered first grade. Yes, I was a very lucky kid.

Somedays, if Dad got done extra early, he and I would go over to Roger Williams Park. The Park was just around the corner from where Gagee and Gramps lived. It had a carousel, paddle boats, pony rides and it was lush and green and lovely. On the outskirts of the park there was a hot dog place. It was a small hole in the wall with a big sign that shouted: “Mile Long Hot Dogs”. Hmmm. Mile long hot dogs. I was little, but I knew a mile was very, very long. I must have pestered Dad about it, because one day we went in and each got a hot dog. You can imagine the visions of enormous hot dogs that danced in my head. Up came our order: two average sized rolls, each with a hot dog that extended off each end of the rolls. I was little, but I knew those were no mile long hot dogs!

We ate the hot dogs and I can’t remember the details of our conversation. I’m sure it involved some confusion and some discussion, perhaps even talk of false advertising (I was somewhat precocious!). By the time we finished our hot dogs we had settled on the best explanation. The owner of the hot dog stand most likely meant that if you were driving in a car, while eating one of his hot dogs, it would take you a whole mile to finish it. My faith in humanity restored, my tummy full of a mile long hot dog, Dad and I headed into the park. Yes, I was a very lucky kid.