Queen Anne Avenue North

Queen Anne Avenue North and Republic, it’s where I’m eating my lunch today: in a Starbucks, adjacent to the Mediterranean Inn Hotel, perfectly positioned for people watching or pondering.


Nearly 20 years ago my Dad lived on this property and I would visit on the weekends. Of course it wasn’t a hotel then, but a Duplex. I’m sure he got the idea to rent it from my Uncle Marty, whose lock shop is next door still. That Duplex was faded and I can’t recall if it was more blue or grey. It smelt of smoke, maybe because of my Dad, but maybe from tenants before. The furniture was sparse, and I wonder where we even got it. My parents had recently dissolved their 20 year marriage. I would sleep on a mattress on the floor, he always preferred the couch, we used paper plates, and the lights or TV were always on. He was a single man, a single man with 3 girls, ages 17, 9, and 1. Those visits never seemed real, or at least during those visits we avoided reality. He taught me how to play chess and we whiled away the hours competing. If we sat down for dinner it was Kentucky Fried Chicken, Dicks, or Pizza. If we didn’t sit down for dinner it was whatever I wanted from Safeway (Reese’s, Zingers, or Peanut Butter and Chocolate Ice Cream). We watched rated R movies and played backgammon, rummy or Nintendo.

Though the Duplex is now buried deep under this hotel, the intersection hasn’t changed much: Key Bank, Dicks, and Uptown Cinema are all still here. The Mecca Café and Safeway seem happy with their permanence. I think of what I would do if I saw a 9 year old girl walking these streets by herself. I certainly wasn’t afraid to back then, and it’s funny to think I get nervous to walk to my car after work if it’s dark. But my Dad was never one to fret. I could go to the Space Needle alone if I wanted (only a block from the Duplex, mind you). I remember the time my friend Tessa came to spend the night and we stood on 1st avenue handing out all of my Dad’s canned creamed corn to the homeless.

Two Marines have just entered the Starbucks, and I think about their futures. I wonder how their service will impact them. Will they live, will they kill, and will they ever be able to be normal again? Will they end up calling their 9 year old daughters on Veteran’s day, crying about the men they had killed or let die? I think of my Dad, in that duplex, threatening my older sister with one of his antique swords. It took numerous cops to restrain him. That is the power of PTSD. It reminds me of the time I thought it would be funny to bang pots and pans around him while he took a nap, but ended up experiencing one of the more terrifying moments in my life, as it triggered a flashback for him and he likely thought I was about to kill him. I hope these young Marines find peace and happiness in the future. But I was never really afraid of my Dad, even as a child, because I knew his true self; not the self that war, and poverty, and fear had imposed upon him. He was and is a big kid.

Though I may write of the bare mattress, the sword, and the fuzzy TV left on all night, those are not the memories that made a profound impact on me. The profound impact came from the unlimited amounts of fun we had. I always looked forward to going to Seattle Center’s Fun Forest, especially riding the rollercoaster that had a little bit of water on track, just enough to make a big splash when you landed at the bottom. It seemed my Dad was the only parent on the rides with the kids. If there was a festival, you can bet we were there eating BBQ ribs, corn on the cob, and Seattle’s Best Fudge for dessert. One time he ran through the fountain just to make me laugh. No matter how many “improper” parenting techniques were used, I always felt loved and special. More than anything, the experiences on Queen Anne Avenue North taught me that even though things don’t always turn out, even if we fail or disappoint others, even if no one understands us, you can always chase joy and share it with others.