American University - Talon / Aucola Yearbook (Washington, DC)

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Sink Your Teeth into a Big Macke . . . (But Watch Out for the Bones) As my son and I were driving home from the beach one weekend in the year 2000, we began to listen to the conversation issu- ing from the car next to ours. The back-up stretched on to the horizon, and we weren t going anywhere. We needed some diversion, and fortunately it was provided. i ' m getting hungry. Let ' s stop some- where for dinner, suggested Al. the fa- ther. Me too, dear, replied Jane, the mother. Where do you kids want to eat? Oh. oh. let ' s go to MacDonalds; there ' s one coming up. said Ginny. the six year old. No, no, I wanna go to Burger King. yelled Paul, the four year old. But the most mature one, Joan, the eight year old, said that she wanted to go to Ken- tucky Fried Chicken. I want to go to the Four T ' s, Jane said. The food ' s good; the place is clean; there ' s a wide selection; and the prices are right. Hey, I got an idea, Al was quick to ejaculate. Let ' s go to Macke. At that instant I could hear the kids all scream with delight, Yeah, yeah. We ' re going to Macke. The cars inched forward. I put the car in gear — then took it out again. Yeah, I love to go to Macke. 1 can order anything I want; can ' t I, Daddy, can ' t 1. can ' t I? asked inquisitive Joan. Macke ' s great, wailed Ginny. waiting impatiently to get there. Paul was the last to respond — he was crying. But I don ' t want to go to Macke. I don ' t like it. I wanna go to Burger King. At that moment Father Al and Mother Jane started singing their favorite song to calm their anxious youngsters: Join the Macke people, feelin ' free, feelin ' free. Join the Macke family; Fll eat you, you ' ll eat me. All across the Nation it ' s the Macke generation, feelin ' free, feelin ' free.

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I pulled off to the side of the road. Macke — that name rang a bell. I know it from somewhere. But where? Ah. yes, Macke was that food service at American back in my college days. Now they have restaurants everywhere. Why did we pull over? ' asked my son Jerry. Oh, nothing, nothing, just some pas- sing thoughts, I answered. Tell me. Daddy, please tell me. Daddy. Are you thinking about Macke again? I had to admit I was. Yes, son, I am. but please don ' t tell, I said. Don ' t worry about it. Dad. my care- free son replied. But do tell me, his voice got softer, What was Macke really like? Well, son, I ' ll tell you. Daddy, did you like it? There was no need to think about that question — or answer it verbally, for that matter. But Daddy, if you didn ' t like it, why are you still alive? I don ' t know. I guess I ' m just one of the lucky ones, I replied, and my mind was filled with images of myself and some friends seated ' round the square table feasting on the salad for weeks in a row, joking and laughing and picking the browned pieces out. Arthur Jacob