Burger King and I go way, way, way back. As Wilbo fans know, my parents met at a Burger Joint on Eight Mile in the Detroit area, near Warren MI. I thought it belonged to the Culver's chain because the building bore the words Butter Burgers on the side. But I had confirmed with my father that the business had an independence from that chain. It was a stand alone. My father loved to stop for a drive in hamburger. He had two nicknames, one of which was Jughead. The second was Wimpy, who would glady give money tomorrow for a hamburger today. Don't worry. My father always had hard earned cash in his pocket and never paid for any food with credit card. We gradually gravitated towards the Burger King and the Hardee's chain. I guess we were hooked by the wonder of flame broiling. I remember when my father bought me not one but two burgers at Hardees, proud to have me riding with him, proud to be able to feed me and perhaps happy to see me eat with enthusiasm and good appetite. The first food I purchased for myself I purchased with money I had found on the grass in a park. I was enjoying dinner with my family, and I asked if I could buy another hamburger, after explain from where I had found the money. Mom and dad were snoopier than the IRS. Mom and Dad were proud of me, as if I had slain a deer, for now I could feed myself for the rest of my life. I even had enough money for two small hamburgers, without cheese, cheapskating. That was 43 years ago, but I remember it quite clearly as I munch on my two single stackers from Burger King. I'm not sure I should be angry at my consumerist culture or myself for my lapses in dietary habits. I could have purchased better at the Health Hutt just up Henry Street. I am a creature of freedom and choice. Yet I am a creature influenced by my culture, which has placed a Burger King flame broiler in every town that has a paved road.
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