(Press play before you read.)
I took my dad to Fox’s Sherron Inn this Father’s Day. It was 5:30 p.m. and the South Miami restaurant was dark, as usual, and cool. It was also empty. It felt like time paused and something erased all the other people in the world. Where did everyone go?
It’s almost the same as when I was growing up. The bar’s now larger, there’s a front patio instead of a curb to sit on, the back rooms are “nicer,” and that ceramic fox is gone. Remember the fox someone stole? I think I know who did it.
I read on Matthew Andrews’ Facebook earlier that this, one the oldest running establishments in town, is closing at the end of this month and the building will be torn down. His family owned it for decades. Remember when he was always there, and, dude, we were all always there. It was like being a kid and your cousins are kids and you all buzz around your grandparents’ house. And then you get to high school and you only stop in now and again. And then your grandparents die, and you can’t ever go back. We’re at that moment.
The best thing about Fox’s was always Patsy Cline on the juke box. Then the 2-4-1 happy hour special that got you so stupid drunk, you ended up crying to “Crazy” and playing it back to back. Then there were the conversations with the old regulars. Boat guys. One was my favorite. He lived with his mom, wore polos with shorts. He was in his 50s, and he liked to talk music. And that airplane painting on the wall — it’s unbeatable. It makes me feel like it’s OK to love where you’re at but also dream about being on your way to someplace different.