WCSX has a long standing radio program on Sunday morning called Sunday Morning Over Easy. I like it as it features easy listening tunes from James Taylor to Carol King and also picks out rare, pleasant songs. I always had, however, a love/hate relationship for Sunday mornings.
As a kid, Sunday morning meant getting ready for church. My Mother made sure my brother and I looked nice after our Saturday night bath. Of course, I would rather put on my jeans and t-shirt, but I knew that God would not be in favor of that style in His house. Raised a Catholic, I knew I was in for an hour of Latin prayers and hymns interspersed with the priest’s sermon about something I had heard before or something I really didn’t understand or some plea for more money. I knew if I got fidgety, I would receive a stink eye from my Mother which would straighten me right up. I loved the hymns. They were easy to sing along with even in Latin. In fact, I loved them so much that I joined the choir and became very close to the organist and choir director Mr. Bernie Beutel. He was a great man who actually introduced me to the piano that I am still battling with to this day. Maybe some day I will be able to play “Chopsticks.”
In the old days, everything was closed on Sundays; very few people worked as the mandate was “no servile work on the Sabbath.” Wow, how times have changed. For most families, Sundays were for togetherness. After church we would have a delicious breakfast prepared by my Mother. Restaurants were closed for the most part. I can smell her sausage patties right now. Later, replacing the greasy smell of breakfast arrived the aroma of southern fried chicken that we had every Sunday. My Mother was from the south, so this chicken was really southern fried. The chicken, potato salad and sweet tea were delicious.
But Sundays also meant that the dreaded homework had to be done. My philosophy having grown up during the Cold War was to wait until Sunday just in case the world was blown to bits by an atomic bomb. What a waste of time to have done my homework if I wouldn’t have the opportunity to turn it in. Well, I always did my homework, thankfully, because we are all still here, thankfully.
I remember one Sunday in particular when I was in high school. I had to translate some passage of Latin from the Aeneid. Now at that time there was a translator book called a “Pony.” Many of my classmates had them and were using them to cut down on the time it would take to actually translate the material. Well, this one Sunday I had a lot of translation to do but wanted to go to the Memorial Building on the campus of the University of Detroit to watch the Catholic League basketball playoffs. All of us basketball junkies would meet in one corner of the arena. I borrowed a Pony from a classmate in order to shorten my homework time and be able to go to the games. It was the first time that I used one. My dear Mother caught me with it telling me that I was cheating. Perhaps I was. She then said that I would finish the assignment on my own and would not be going to the game. Throughout life we have consequences for actions. This one was a very tough one to take, but I did.
Sunday morning over easy? Perhaps Sunday morning over not so easy.
