I grew up in a small town, in a family that had its own traditions. Big family...seven of us. Every evening, we would have dinner together all sitting around a big oak table. So why is it that Sunday is the day I remember the most?
My father was a hard working grain elevator man. Sundays were meant for the family. Weekday mornings I would wake up and he would be gone for the day. Not on Sunday. I was an early riser and would come into the sunlit living room seeing him sitting in his chair, drinking his coffee and reading his lessons..he was a devout Christian Scientist. I would plunk myself in a chair next to him, he'd pass the funny papers..what we called the comics and we would read together. Me and my comics, he and his lessons. Occasionally he'd ask me what was happening with Beetle Bailey.
As a little girl, we had to go to Sunday school. Not that I minded. All the kids met together from all ages so it was kind of fun. After church, we would come home to my mom cooking brunch. Brunch was a big word back in the day...it's what I call it now but I am sure back then, it was called dinner. Light as a feather Norwegian pancakes, bacon searing in a pan and special flavored syrups that only came out on Sunday. Blueberry, raspberry and apricot. Smother the pancakes with sour cream before the syrup. Mom would be standing at the counter that overlooked the table flipping jacks while all of us sat around the table clamoring for more. There was always much laughter and talking...a special meal when no problems or world events were talked about...just plain old family time.
After dinner while the sun was hot, my parents, little brother and I would jump into the '57 Chevy (my Dad's work car) and head out to the country to "check the crops" as my Dad called it. Windows rolled down, hot summer sun and the wind blowing in our faces...the vision of the back of my parents heads in the front seat. We'd turn down a dirt road and Dad would say it looked like a good one to check out...corn and wheat on either side of the road so high that it buried the car from view. It felt like you were going into a maze...great fun for a kid! Of course, you couldn't go fast so the grasshoppers would come flying through the open windows. My brother would squeal with delight knowing full well I hated the things with their sticky legs that would grab you. Many times there would be a big puddle in the middle of the road. Dad would slow the car way down, put it in low gear and floor it through the puddle, mud flying everywhere, my brother and I laughing with total satisfaction. Mom and Dad would just smile in the front seat knowing there was something to the simple pleasures in life.
Dinner was 'catch as catch can'...anything left in the fridge. After, we'd all circle around the TV watching Disney which happened to be one of the only shows we could watch. When the night came, we'd slip into clean sheets, windows open, cool breeze, the sound of crickets and big smiles on our faces.
Sunday traditions...family..molding into human beings enjoying the simple pleasures in life.