My earliest memory is when I was two or three and I would visit my dad at Straw Hat Pizza where he was the manager. I found this t-shirt recently and was triggered by the visceral memories of penny-cent mechanical pony rides, the smell of green bell peppers and pepperoni, balloons tied to a stick, lollipops. It was a dark and cavernous saloon akin to what pizzerias were like then, with long tables and a general reddish hue. I think about all the many different jobs my dad held as an immigrant to the States and how he’s declining cognitively now in his 80s. I see it flash.
Shahrzad Naficy is a writer living in Los Angeles.