LAST WEEK, LaVeta asked me what I want for Father’s Day. I told her I want a day out with the family in Atlantic City.
I know that Atlantic City might seem like a lame Father’s Day gift, but as seedy as Atlantic City is, it’s mine.
It was mine before the casinos were a twinkle in a mobster’s eye.
It was mine before some schmuck painted himself silver and did the robot on the Boardwalk.
It was mine, quite frankly, because that’s where my parents took my brother and me when we were kids.
Back then we ate roasted peanuts while a giant, white-gloved Mr. Peanut strolled the Boardwalk in a top hat and a monocle. We ate gooey, flavorless, washed-out saltwater taffy while seagulls dive-bombed us like fighter jets. We ate pizza and ice cream, scarfed down hot dogs and funnel cake.
By the time we finished playing rigged carnival games and riding rickety amusements, we were sick and we were tired. But we had a blast, because my parents were treating.
These days, when I take the family to Atlantic City in an attempt to relive the happiest days of my childhood, we do many of the same things I did with my parents.
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Solomon Jones is an Essence bestselling author and award-winning columnist. He is the creator and editor of Solomonjones.com and morning host on 900 am WURD radio. Click here to learn more about Solomon