I live just off an interstate highway, tis an old highway and the new interstate has pulled most of the thru traffic away from it, once in a while a trucker will use it to avoid the scales and travelers desiring a slower, more relaxed pace make use of this old relic. Traffic is increasing, not because of interstate travelers but simply because the local population is growing.

Every day as i travel this old road going to and from work or simply going to the store i have to pass a small highway diner called "The Family Diner". This diner is so typical of the diners that used to line the interstates - small in size, white stucco, large plate glass windows in front, neon sign "The Family Diner", sign sitting along highway showing today's blue plate special, large parking lot to accommodate the occasional trucker.

Step inside and you see the cash register, bowl of mints, and toothpick dispenser. There are pocket sized combs, sun glasses, a few post cards, breath fresheners, and tums for the tummy displayed on those large cards hanging from the walls, all with the prices hand written in those big white dots. Look to your right and you will see the counter with the six stools, pies on display, cakes that are already sliced, and menus stuck down between the sugar bowls and the salt and pepper shakers. For families, there are 10 booths where you slide in over the vinyl seats and start to browse through the juke box selection that hangs on the wall. Tis one of those diners where one of the waitresses is older, with grey hair, heavy set, remembers everyone and what they always order, reminds you of everyones grandmother. The other waitress, is middle aged, thin, little too much make-up, hair still done up in bee hive style, pencil stuck behind ear, and chewing gum. Both wear those light green uniforms with white aprons, and when you get your check, it too is that light green color - no print out, just hand written and usually in pencil. One or both waitress will always have pot of coffee in their hands, taking orders and pouring refills.

Food is good, plenty of it, and the prices are very reasonable. Tis a good place to sit down, read the paper, and lounge over breakfast and those endless cups of coffee. Families can go there, tis casual and the prices will not require a second mortgage. Such a nice place - but i can not drive past without feeling pangs of anger and pain.

Can remember so well that as a boy we had a diner almost identical to this one , it was on the main highway that led to town. Stood just about half way between town and our home. Everytime we went to town, Grandfather would want to stop there for a cup of coffee and a slice of pecan pie, he said it was the best coffee and pecan pie in the whole state. He would pull into the parking lot and hand me his old coffee cup and a plate that he had brought from home. I would take the cup and plate and go inside the diner to order the coffee and pie while grandfather sat outside in the old pickup truck. You see, this diner had one thing that the diner near me now lacked, and that was the small hand-written sign on the door that read "White Only".

Grandfather had been buying coffee and pecan pie at this diner for years and had never been allowed to set foot inside - he would send me, his half-blood grandson, the blue grandson in to buy the coffee and pie in his behalf.

Once in side, the thin waitress would give me looks of disdain and walk right on past, never even stopping to ask what i wanted, the older waitress simply did not see me. They knew me and they knew my family, and they really resented the fact that an indian family had a blue eyed member.

Guess they thought even less of me, bad enough to be indian but a half breed was something else again. Finally they would pour the coffee and put two slices of pie on the plate take my money, return change and turn and scowl all with out saying a single word - was not easy for a child of 7, 8, 9, or ten to understand. Would then fight with the front door trying to get out without spilling the coffee or dropping the pie - had to learn how to do with without using hands since both hands were full. Then came that long walk across the parking lot - cup would be filled to the brim and the hot coffee would splash out and burn my hand. Had a slight case of polio which had left my legs thin and weak, so walking smoothly was an impossible task. Never did tell Grandfather how the coffee burned my hands so much.

Grandfather would be waiting in the truck or if i had taken too long he would be under the hood fiddling with something or another. He would take the coffee and pies from me, and we would walk around to the back of the truck. there we would sit on the tailgate and enjoy the very best pecan pie in the whole darn state.

Adonaset
Walk in Harmony

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