Who remembers A&W off Route 224?

I’m about to get a little off-topic before I get into the heart of my nostalgia, but trust me — it’s worth the detour. I feel like I need to set the scene to help you understand how absolutely phenomenal A&W was in my childhood and early adolescence. In my mind, it holds a space right up there with Mill Creek Park. Yep, that important.

A&W was more than just a place to grab a bite. It was a treat. It was an experience. I loved when my mom would pull into one of those spots with the old-school speaker boxes where we could order from the car like we were in some 1950s movie. My go-to?

Cheeseburger, fries and yes — you already know where I’m going with this — a root beer float. The best there ever was. Not up for debate.

As I got older, that little A&W lot transformed. It became home to a car show.

Let me be clear — I know absolutely nothing about cars. I have zero desire to know anything about them beyond whether they start or not.

But the car show? That had spark. The kind of spark that ignited something in the community.

I remember watching my uncles walk around, practically giddy, checking out antique and flashy cars, lifting hoods to admire engines like they were pieces of art. And seeing their excitement?

It made me excited. That’s honestly the only thing I really like about cars — the way they light people up. The way they bring people together.

And then, the car show got even bigger.

Suddenly, 224 was at a standstill.

A complete and utter hot mess. But I loved it. I remember sitting with my friends at the end of our driveway (because we were a cut-through street), just watching the line of cars go by, marveling at the sea of strangers who somehow knew Boardman existed — and on that weekend, it existed in the best way possible.

When we were finally old enough to drive ourselves? That’s when the real chaos began. And we willfully participated in it.

Slowly creeping along 224 with the windows down, flirting with boys, waving to friends, blasting music we had burned onto mix CDs. Sure, a few of us had cars that overheated or stalled because we were driving beat-up hand-me-downs, but that was part of the charm. It was messy; it was mayhem; and it was absolutely perfect.

All of this came rushing back to me the other day when I drove by the mall and saw a sign promoting the car show. I know, I know — it’s probably still amazing, especially for people who actually like cars.

But for me? It’s not just about the show.

It’s about the root beer floats, the laughter, the low-stakes summer nights, the traffic jams we secretly loved because we didn’t have anywhere more important to be.

The A&W car show didn’t just showcase vehicles — it gave our town a pulse. For one weekend, the whole community came alive, and even if we complained about the traffic, deep down we were kind of glad for it. It meant something was happening here.

And now? That stretch of 224 feels quieter.

Maybe I’ve just gotten older. Maybe I have too many places to be to enjoy a good standstill. But there’s a part of me that misses it — the mess, the magic and that first cold sip of a root beer float in the heat of a summer evening.

So from me to you… what do you miss? What simple place or annual event holds space in your heart, even if it’s long gone or changed beyond recognition? Tell me about it. I’d love to hear your version of A&W.

Let’s keep the memories alive — together.

Mother, author, entrepreneur and founder of Dandelion-Inc, Lisa Resnick wants to hear your story. Share memories with her by emailing lisa@dandelion-inc.com.