Ice Cream Sundaes and Oversized Sleep Shirts

Ice Cream Sundaes and Oversized Sleep Shirts

“Let’s go! Get your shoes and coat on, we’re going to the store.” 

“But Daddy, it’s 8pm the stores are closing soon.”

“Perfect.”

It wasn’t the first late-night trip to the store. It wouldn’t be the last. 

Maybe it was boys being mean, school being hard, or the unsteadiness that growing as a teenage girl causes - but he knew the right thing to do. As his freckled hand turned the brass knob to the front door, I remember being mesmerized by this force of a man and how different he was than any of my friends’ dads. The wind bustled causing leaves to blow into the community hallway of his apartment building. I asked him if we should clean up first, but ever so coolly he replied, “Ashlee we have more important things to do”. 

 I guess for most kids being different and set apart was not something that was celebrated. The epitome of pre-teendom, after all,  is to not stand out. And in some ways, I molded myself into that belief system too. But he made being different, being set apart, being exactly the type of thing you didn’t see coming -- a joy. I’d be lying if I said this out-of-the-norm sense was always celebrated by me. I probably wished he'd be like “regular dads” a time for two -- but “regular” wasn’t a word in John Haggerty’s vocabulary. 

He may not have had life figured out, the way people think you should. He didn’t own a home, he wasn’t in a partnership, and financially he was always teetering that edge of survivability.  I wouldn’t learn about the importance of investing, how to change a tire, or a myriad of other “dad wisdom” that Hallmark always mentions on their Father’s Day cards. 

We got to the grocery store, and expertly navigated the same aisles I knew we would. We didn’t consult the advertisements for sales -- this grocery run wasn’t about filling up the pantry, it was about filling up the heart. $40-some dollars later we were set. Two grocery bags filled with the makings of the best banana splits to ever exist. And for good snacking measures, Diet Coke and Made-Rite BBQ chips. 

I don’t remember this specific occasion, but I’m sure walking into his home, at that moment, felt like an embrace. My dad’s house always smelled the same. It’s probably one of the smells I miss most. When I close my eyes now, I can still feel the texture of that oversized floral painting, I can remember how it felt to curl up into his oversized couch, and I smile mentally notating all the Irish knick knacks strewn about. 

When I say, “the best banana splits to ever exist”, I mean it. Or, that was the goal anyways. 

“Neapolitan”

“Check.”

“Extra French Vanilla for my favorite daughter?”

“Check.”

“Maraschino cherries, peanuts, pineapple, whipped cream, chocolate, caramel, and bananas?”

“Check, check, nice try, check, check, check, and double bananas for me.”

We unpacked all the ingredients and laughed about how “this” would be our greatest masterpiece ever. Each time we partook in this sacrificial meal we vowed to make it so. 

His favorite part about the banana splits was presenting them to me. I followed the drill. Tv on. AMC old movie found. Cozy blankets on the couch, ice water on the side tables. And I changed into the world’s best pajamas ever -- my dad’s oversized shirt. If I picked we probably watched Gone with the Wind, An Affair to Remember, White Christmas, or even The Bells of Saint Mary’s. If he chose it would be something with Bette Davis, Marilyn Monroe, or Katherine Hepburn. 

“Are your eyes closed?”

“Yesssss Dad….”

“Okay, 3, 2, 1… open”

I gasped. Maybe I gasped because it was amazing,(as only the best banana split could be), or maybe it was out of ritual and wanting to make him feel good. But either way, my gasp was as effective as his dramatics. We played off each other well. 

He sat on the right side of the couch, me on the left. We would start out apart, but once my tasty treat was done, I would always end up scooching closer to him. I can say with certainty, no matter what we watched it made me forget about whatever was upsetting me. At that moment it was just us. Boys? Who are they? School? What is that? I was submersed in the world of dramatic old movies with my dad. 

There would be no long talks about my feelings. I wouldn’t recount every detail that upset me to him and he wouldn’t toll out advice.  He instead stood as an oak tree.  He sat with me in my discomfort. The roots of our love were deep and his arms sheltered me from the storms, but he never tried to take over and presume he knew my experiences. I still had to walk through the hard times, whether they be major issues, or a childhood whim. But I knew I never would need to walk through them alone. 

I wish I knew when the last banana split encounter was. I wish I could remember every single detail. I don’t. But what I do know, the only detail that really matters, is how it made me feel. Sometimes in life, banana splits are just ice cream, and oversized t-shirts are just pajamas. And other times, they are the more important things to do.