My parents' past had always seemed so glamorous, unattainable, and out of focus. My dad's parents died when he was a teenager and his older brothers and sisters had taken all of the old family photos except for one very small, dog-eared photograph of my grandmother in which her face is barely visible. I grew up with no tangible images of my grandparents and had only my imagination to rely on. The past always seems more appealing because (1) we didn't have to live through it and (2) we have the luxury of romanticizing it and making it what we want it to be. I had a more realistic view of my mom's family, however, because she had several photos of her family and also because I actually knew my grandmother and had a relationship with her until she died in 1978.
Oh, well. Maybe it was best to live in my fantasy world with an idealized view of my parents' pasts. I can't help but think that even though the times were tougher, the values were simpler and more ideal. It was a slower and more focused way of life. I have accepted the fact that technology is here to stay, but can't help but think that it has made our lives more complicated and impersonal in some respects.
We headed south on Warner Road and turned west on Granger Road. I was a little concerned when Dad missed his turn onto I-77.
"I think I'll take 21 home. It's a prettier drive."
"Sure, Dad."
Route 21 was beyond the scope of my handy-dandy Mapquest printouts, so Dad was on his own with this one. I realized that he was right as we drove through Independence, a Western Reserve-style city with its white wooden street signs and Colonial-style buildings. It was a refreshing respite from the highway, plus the speed limit was slower, thusly minimizing the risk of a potentially serious accident (see Part 2 of this series). For some reason, we started talking about Mark, our youngest brother. Julie asked me if I remembered where he worked. I couldn't for the life of me remember the name of the company, but knew that he worked for a financial services company. We were so proud of him because he returned to college after nearly 10 years and completed his finance degree. He had attended the University of Akron (yes, I still talk to him even though our alma maters are arch enemies) after high school and left to play saxophone on a Carnival cruise ship. He interned at a financial services company and was hired on a full-time basis after graduation.
My other sister, Mary, called me to hash out the plans for that evening as we entered the city of Richfield, which I remembered as the home of the Coliseum, where I had seen many concerts when I lived in Ohio. Julie asked if Whitey's, where my brother moonlights as a bartender, was on this road. I told her that I didn't know because I had never been there. Suddenly, we passed a beautiful teal historic home that had been converted into a business on the right. I quickly glanced at the white sign in front of the building.
"Hey, Julie. Doesn't Mark work at Hammer Financial Services?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Uh, because I think we just passed it."
"Dad, turn around! We have to stop and see him!"
I wasn't sure about popping in on him because he was pretty new at the company and I didn't want to get him in trouble. I thought that we could at least stick a note on his car, so I urged Dad to turn the car around, which he did. He pulled into a neighboring parking lot while I scribbled something on a yellow sticky note. Julie and I climbed the hill next to the house and found Mark's car in the parking lot. I stuck the note on his windshield and started to walk back to Dad's car.
"Amy, he'll kill us if we don't stop in and say hi."
"I know, but I don't want to get him in trouble."
"We HAVE to at least go in and say hi."
"You're right. Let's go."
We walked up the manicured path at the back of the house, which was apparently the main entrance. We walked into a beautifully decorated sitting room. It looked like the owner had preserved the original fireplace and decorate it in period-appropriate furniture. We saw a reception window and voila!
"What the....??!!"
I think it was safe to assume that Mark was surprised. He came around the desk and took us back to the inner sanctum of Hammer Financial Services. The owner wasn't in, but we met the office manager and a couple of younger Alex P. Keaton types. Of course, Julie and I had to embarrass Mark with comments like, "So you really DO have a job..." and "We apologize for him. We're sorry that you have to put up with him," and, "We're the NORMAL members of the Sterle family."
"Are Mom and Dad in the car?"
"Yep."
"Tell them to come in!"
Mark walked outside with us and we got Mom and Dad out of the car for a couple photo opps:
"Mom, it's okay. You can come in. The boss isn't here."
"Howdy! I'm Flat Markus!"
"I'm trying to act happy, but I really want to split and have a beer with my sisters."
"It's only leaning a little."
Mark took all of us back inside the office so we could check out his digs. The house was built in the 1800s and had been very well-maintained. Mark introduced Mom and Dad to his co-workers and showed us the conference room:
....and did a presentation for us:
....and misspelled Sterles Rule....
He couldn't resist playing boss in the owner's office (I'm only posting this because I'm sure that his boss doesn't read this blog):
Not wanting to disrupt his work day any further, Julie asked him if Whitey's was nearby. Mark said that it was just down the road and that we should stop in for a drink. I'm in!
Mark paid homage to Lauren, his fiancee, as we were leaving:
We said our goodbyes, chattering about how happy we were that Julie had the guts to suggest popping in on Mark. We got back in the car and headed south on 21. Sure enough, less than a mile down the road we saw:
Whitey's Booze 'N Burgers. Simple, catchy, and perhaps a little too honest. I liked it. Mark has worked two stints at Whitey's over the past several years. My parents have always raved about their ribs and it seemed that I was the only family member (except for Mary) that had never been there. Julie insisted on taking my picture outside the entrance:
I know you can't see it, but I have a very big smile on my face (in anticipation of a nice, cold brewski). We walked in and took a seat at the bar. Julie asked the bartender if he knew Mark Sterle and he grinned and said that Mark just called and told him that we were on our way. (Julie and I later talked about all of the things we could have said, like, "Well, you tell that SOB that I'm having his child" or "That mother owes me child support," but we weren't quick-witted enough at the time, and we were also with our parents.) I ordered a Labatt's while Julie and my parents ordered Coronas.
It was nice to relax and review the day's adventures as we observed the other patrons' antics. My mom was shocked when the bartender said the word "asshole." I gently reminded her that we were in a bar. We finished our drinks and headed toward Ashland. I didn't want to leave.....I wanted more....more stories, more family history sites, and yes.....more beer.
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