I Have Become an Old Dad at McDonald’s

Throughout the country there is a gathering that takes place most weekend mornings. The old men congregate at the local McDonald’s. The breakfasts may vary but there’s always plentiful cups of hot coffee. Occasionally a cup of orange juice, because their doctor told them so. I’ve been inside many a McDonald’s over the years for breakfast and always seen these groups having constant light conversations. Weather, doctor visits, some politics, updates on children and grandchildren; and often “is so and so still alive?” I’ve joked over the years that I don’t think these guys are friends, I think they just found other people their age that were still alive in the same town and this meetup became a habit. McDonald’s may be the most prevalent place but this interaction takes place at Dunkin Donuts, diners, and as I am discovering, bookstore cafes. 

Never did I expect to become one of these men myself. As someone right on the cut off of mid-40s I saw this as the domain for the previous generation. Those who are retired and have their mornings free. However, as the last few weeks have taught me, not only have I become one of these men, but apparently I’m good at it too. 

This started with an increase in my free time. I’ve been working part time at a major bookstore chain and that time naturally came to an end. Yet there was a feeling of loss. I was going to miss seeing some of the employees and customers that I’ve seen every weekend for two years. 

Thus I get up every Saturday morning and drive in to the bookstore’s cafe to see familiar faces. I am the youngest of the old men that come to pick up a morning coffee and magazine. To my surprise, I was also the most missed. I’m the one with the fresh stories. Every week I have new stories from work, adventures with my son, or anecdotes of (attempted) dating. These guys have heard each other’s stories before. They’ve already talked about at length that “none of this used to be here”. There’s only so many times they can debate who killed Kennedy. But they all get a kick out of the younger guy’s tales of traveling roads they left behind 20-30 years ago. 

On the flip side, I’m also years ahead of most of the people I worked with at this bookstore. I’m writing part of this article while sitting in the cafe and I’ve been interrupted a few times by former co-workers who want to tell me about their lives and get my opinion. They’ll ask me questions about going to college, starting a family, challenges in long term relationships – many times their first.  I’m the store dad, or “daddy” if they really want to get me going. 

Which brings me to being an old man at McDonald’s. 

Recently, during the Memorial Day school vacation, I took my son to McDonald’s for breakfast. Chocolate milk, orange juice, and a large iced coffee. Eggs, sausage, biscuits, and too many hash browns. I know my son is unique in the best ways, which leads to the best conversations. “Dad, what superpower would you like to have?” “Dad, what would you do first if you were president?” “Dad, what movie universe would you not want to live in?” “Dad, what countries do you think should be given independence?” Yeah. The talks are all over the place. We probably spent a good hour there. I saw the old man group, and a couple of subsets, but I had my company. We cleaned up the table and made our way to throw out the trash when an older woman motioned me over. “Young man, could I have a word with you?” Oh no. What did I say? What answer did I give to one of my son’s many questions that was overheard and not appreciated? I walked over, fully expecting to be given an earful. “I come here every weekend and you are the only father I have seen actively engaging with their child. Every other parent your age is on their phone and paying no attention to their child. But I watched the two of you talk and laugh and pay attention to each other, and I just had to say how wonderful I thought you two were.” 

You could have knocked me over with a french fry. I could tell you a hundred of my flaws before one of my strengths. My greatest skill is self deprecation. Yet here is a stranger telling me I’m succeeding in a task I wasn’t aware I was assigned. I just like spending time with my kid and he’s pretty awesome. More awesome than anything I could have found on my phone. 

Maybe that’s what the older crowd knew all along. They not only grew up without smartphones, but without the internet, cable, and so many other distractions. Even the most introverted still had to go outside and interact with their peers. They had conversations about everything and nothing over a beer, or cake, or coffee, or an Egg McMuffin. Maybe this congregation of retirees isn’t the odd thing I once believed it to be. Maybe having too much salt and sugar with other people once a week is healthier than eating vegetables in isolation while staring at a screen. I’ll accept this role as the young old man and I won’t be looking at my phone when the next generation joins me.