Treasure trinkets
Jack’s Drive-Inn in Council Bluffs, Iowa, in 1958, was nothing like the fancy diners and ice cream parlors we have now. It was a large additional section of a house that jutted out of a parking lot that couldn’t hold more than four or five cars.
Jack made hamburgers, French fries, and perhaps the best milk shake in the world. On a hot, humid afternoon, not far from the Missouri River, there was nothing better than a milkshake at Jack’s Drive-Inn.
I was in the ninth grade at the time and my father was the pastor of a small church on the south side of the Council Bluff railroad tracks. Jack’s Drive-Inn was about six blocks from the church, and best of all, it was on the way home from the Council Bluffs airport.
That was important because my dad owned a plane and gave flying lessons to pay for the maintenance of the little four-seater Cessna. My older brother and I used to go with Dad to the airport and hang out while he gave lessons.
The best ending to those hot days at the airport was a stop on the way home at Jack’s Drive-Inn for one of their delicious milkshakes. Dad always asked for vanilla, my brother and I alternated between chocolate, strawberry and caramel.
To get some relief from the sun and humidity, Dad would pull our light green and white 1957 Chevy pickup under a tree. The three of us sat there and drank malts until we heard that sad sipping sound at the end of our straws that indicated we were done.
I don’t recall any meaningful conversations and I don’t recall ever having any agenda other than drinking our tasty malts. I remember seeing my dad take a long sip from his straw, smack his lips and say, “Man, that’s a good malt.”
Decades later, and only a few years before Dad died, I visited him and my brother (now a professional pilot) in Leesburg, Florida. One hot afternoon, the three of us stopped at Daddy’s favorite little burger joint for a milkshake. This time we all ordered vanilla. It didn’t take long for Dad to lean back in his chair and say, “man, that’s a good malt.”
I tell you this story because it illustrates the dramatic difference between what one writer calls trinkets and treasurers *. Dad could have bought us fancy toys, took us to popular events, or sent us to a variety of youth activities. While doing some of that, what he did the most was give us his time, his presence, his company.
Toys, tickets, or trips would have been fun, but they couldn’t replace the treasure of daddy’s time. I’m not sure how much the burgers and fries cost at Jack’s Drive-Inn in 1958, but I’m pretty sure the malt was only 25 cents. Malts weren’t expensive, but the time I spent sitting in the shade of a tree with Dad, drinking a malted milk, was priceless.
It seems to me that many children these days are being raised by smartphones, televisions, youth activities, dance or soccer camps, rooms full of electronic devices, overloaded schedules, and online friendships. All of those things are trinkets compared to the treasure of a few quiet moments with Dad.
© 2014 Ron Ross
* “Sophistication is understanding the difference between trinkets and treasures.” – Jim Rohn
