He used to drive me to White Castle. We would roll the windows down because my mother wouldn't allow it when she was in the van. He always played jazz or blues on the stereo because they were his favorites, and my mother wouldn't listen to anything but oldies when she was around ("the best of the '50s, '60s, and early '70s!" the radio ads used to tout). My dad and I listened to Wes Montgomery and Joe Pass and Muddy Waters. He liked guitarists because he played the guitar, or maybe he played the guitar because he liked the sound of it. I didn't like or understand jazz or blues at the time, but he seems to have planted a seed that grew up with me. Scarcely a day went by in the first 18 years of my life that I didn't hear "Misty" or "Willow Weep for Me." I have the voice for them now too. I didn't even know those songs had words back then.
We would order our tiny cheeseburgers at the drive-thru and then sit in the parking lot with the windows rolled down while we ate. I always took the pickles off mine, and he would add them to his own. I was a picky eater back then.