Shiny Metal Donuts

Shiny metal donuts

What is it about memories that seem to offer a kind of comfort and stability for people? And why are so many of our favorite memories –in the big picture- completely insignificant? Think back and try to remember your first memory or even your favorite memory. Is it something that has completely changed you as a person? Probably not. Chances are you are thinking of an outing with your friends or your family, or maybe a day when you laughed so hard you thought you were going to break a rib. These are usually the ones that stick out the most, these are the good ones, the bad ones are either buried deep inside our subconscious or we just choose not to remember them. The funny thing about memories is that they become so much more important once someone in the memory is no longer present, whether through death, moving or simply growing out of friends. We all have our favorite memories and they are very important to us, even through others may see them as insignificant. I have one memory that I hold close to my heart. I’m not sure if it is my very first memory but I do know that it is very important to me.
          This first treasured memory of mine occurred when I was two, maybe three years old. At that age I spent a lot of time with my grandparents, I used to spend weeks at a time staying with them. I always had an especially close bond with my Grandpa Sam- he was always the major father figure in my life. Even through he was my grandma’s second husband and not really my real grandpa and he had his own children and grand children, he always spoiled me a little more than the others. It was a beautiful sunny spring afternoon when Grandpa Sam decided to take me for a walk down to the park.  I was clipped into a stroller and off we went to play in the park. All I remember on the walk to there was that we passed pine trees – huge, beautiful, monstrous pine trees that swayed in the breeze. To me they were magical. I don’t remember much from the park either. The one image that is incredibly vivid, however, is when I finally got the nerve up to go down the infamous tunnel slide. I sat down at the top of the slide and stared down into the seemingly never-ending abyss of darkness and dirty yellow plastic. I let go of the side and let myself slide into the unknown. As I reached the bottom and sunlight once again reappeared I saw my grandpa kneeling on the ground ready to catch me as I came flying out of the covered cave of terrifying plastic. I knew in my toddler subconscious that he wouldn’t let me get hurt. He would always be at the other end of the slide to catch me. As the fun at the park progressed and the day passed by, the storm clouds began to roll in. Seeing the impending doom Grandpa Sam decided it was time to call it a day – but not before one more adventure – so he grabbed my hand and we began walking to our next destination. The Donut Shop. Now this was not your average donut shop, it wasn’t a Tim Horton’s or a Dunkin Donuts – it was simply The Donut Shop. It was a small locally owned shop frequented by the same old patrons everyday. Because it was in the neighborhood filled with senior condo complexes many of the patrons were just like my grandpa, old men who came and talked about the good old days and occasionally they brought along a grandchild to show off. Well it just so happened that that was the day when my grandpa decided to show me off to all his friends. When we first entered the shop the first thing I noticed was that there was shiny silver metal everywhere. The stools, the bar, even the walls were a finely polished shiny metal. I was lifted up and propped atop a metal stool with a smooth fabric seat. As my grandpa began his usual banter with his confectionary companions the kind old man behind the bar placed a napkin and a seemingly huge powdered sugar donut in front of me. My last memory of the day was sitting atop that shiny metal stool in that shiny metal donut shop eating what is still my favorite donut, no doubt making a ridiculous mess.   
I haven’t been back to The Donut Shop since that day and even if it is still there I probably wouldn’t want to go back. It wouldn’t be the same. The metal won’t be as shiny, the costumers won’t be as nice, the donuts won’t be as big and the pine trees just won’t be magical anymore. That’s another funny thing about memories they are always better being just remembered, never relived. 

         My grandpa died six or seven years later when I was nine years old. And even though I have hundreds of other memories with him – learning to play the spoons, babysitting, and even my first steps – the donut shop is still my favorite. We will always have those shiny metal donuts.