Comfort in A Box – Written by Amanda Hines in October of 2019

            I think I like Dominos pizza because of my dad. Not like it’s hereditary. It’s more like Dominos reminds me of my dad. He worked for the company from the time I was little and so he always smelled like pizza. He also brought it home from work on a regular enough basis that I always associate it with him.

            Growing up I was always close with my dad. We had little things together that were special me-and-dad things, like watching wrestling together eating chips and salsa in the old recliner when I was little. When I got older my dad would play football in the yard with me and my brother. I had a good spin on the ball, he said. We would work on the old truck behind our house, a black and white Ford with a missing letter on the front. I remember learning about cars by helping him repair the old thing. It used to run; it doesn’t do that so much anymore. My dad used to pick me up from school and take me to therapy, and while that wasn’t always a good memory, my dad would always buy me lunch on our way back to the school because I always missed lunch on therapy days. These were the little things that grounded me in my relationship with my dad. These were the comforts I held onto even when things got bad.

            When I’m hurt, I naturally want my dad to comfort me and tell me everything is okay, I’ve always been that way. I think all kids are like that and I don’t feel quite grown up. Now that I’m an adult and I live a long way away from my dad, it’s harder to go home and hug my dad or watch Indiana Jones movies with him. So, to feel close to him when I can’t visit, I just order pizza. It’s an unspoken language between me and the universe, because ordering Dominos almost feels like inviting my dad into my home, and that just makes life less sucky.

Thank You for reading!