Places let us reconnect with those no longer here

The T-Bone Steak House in south Phoenix had been one of my dad’s favorite places when he lived in Laveen. We’d ride our horses along the canal, tie them up outside and go in to eat.

We also met there for dinner every Election Day, wearing our “I Voted Today” stickers. We’d click mugs of Bud Lite and say, “God bless America.”

I joined my cousins Theresa and Janet for dinner there on a recent evening, my first time back in 20 years.

I’m not sure why it took so long. Maybe I thought it would be hard.

The road there, 19th Avenue south of Baseline, is paved now, as is the parking lot, but the restaurant, with its lantern light and red-checked tablecloths, looked the same. The view of the city lights was amazing.

The wait staff doesn’t wear guns on hip holsters anymore. The floor is clear of sawdust. I was going to order a Bud Lite on draft, my dad’s favorite, but the beer selection is fancier now.

I found the salad bar the same, mixed greens, cucumber slices and canned green beans.

There was live music, a man in a cowboy hat playing country songs. My dad would have liked that.

Now that I was here, in my mind’s eye, I could see my dad, holding his beer mug, charming the waitress, teasing me about canceling out my vote.

My dad is buried at Arlington National Cemetery, and I’m proud of that. What I’ve discovered in the 20 years since he died of cancer is that I can be near him still.

Places like the Silver Pony Bar & Grill, his old haunt where I buy a round on the Marine Corps birthday as he did.

On Phoenix softball fields where he pitched. On the back of a horse.

And, on this night, at a rustic steak house.

I’ll be back.