Slurpee

On Saturday, I initiated Rudy into the Slurpee drinking world. This may seem insignificant to most, but for me, it was sorta a big deal. You see, drinking Slurpees meant one thing, always, when I was growing up. It meant that I was with Vati. Mutti hates Slurpees just about as much as she hates those hostess pies and root beer. Lucky for me, I have an American father to introduce me to such vital parts of my culture. :)

All I have to do is sip on a Slurpee and hoards of memories come floating up through that straw. Memories of Fed Ex runs with Vati, or whatever other errands he had invited me to come with him on. I'd always happily come, mostly 'cause it was a chance to have Vati to myself and I knew he'd ask me about life and give me good things to think about, but also because I had a constant hope that perhaps we'd stop at 7Eleven on the way home. As we would near the turn off to go to 7 Eleven, I'd silently hope (sometimes not so silently) that we'd slow and turn. When we did, I was absolutely delighted. I might as well have won the lottery. We'd saunter in, test all the flavors, finally make our selections, and then head back to the car. Vati had this impressive way of being able to shake his Slurpee down so that he'd never run into the problem of having to find more tastiness in the cup. I'd constantly be fishing for undevoured pockets of sweet nectar. I loved the Slurpee, but I think I may have loved the straw even more. How cool is a straw with a SPOON on the end of it? (Pretty darn, if you're seven. ;) ) I'd always be sure to save the last little bit to scoop up with my straw spoon.

Anyway, as I shared my Slurpee with Rudy in the car on the way to visit my parents, I took great satisfaction in Rudy's delight with the cool, sweet, tingly experience. I hope that Rudy will harbor as many sweet memories of his childhood Slurpees as I do of mine.