I’m not sure I ever wrote about it but I basically grew up in a restaurant. My grandfather opened a little restaurant about 38 years ago or so. Eventually, my aunt and mother took over when my grandparents were no longer able to work it.
I worked there every weekend since I can remember and I didn’t always like it. Some days, I flat out hated it because while others were doing fun stuff for the weekends or dances, I was working at a little place that barely fit 40 people. Eventually, I went on to other jobs and such but I never really thought about it not being ours. I had a brief thought about reopening it when my aunt wasn’t being able to sell it but it wouldn’t have worked out.
I never realized how much I would miss it. It was part of a legacy that my grandpa built with homemade pies and town gossip. It was the only place to eat for about 20 miles in either direction and survived 35 years. It sold just a few weeks ago.
That’s me now holding a picture that was taken at the restaurant. It looks like it might have been near a holiday because of the decorations in the background. Yes, the memories are there but the legacy is gone now and while I don’t know the new owners or what they will do, it will always be our restaurant where I went after school on Fridays to serve the all you can eat fish and coconut cream pies, where I avoided certain customers who liked to flirt and cleaned up after hunters in hunting season. It’s where I grew up just as much as my own home. I’m a bit sad that my baby will never see it like it was just like they’ll never meet the man who opened it (my grandpa past 2.5 years ago)