Posted tagged ‘Sunday football’

“I once spent a year in Philadelphia, I think it was on a Sunday.”

January 27, 2019

It’s cold but it is winter after all. The sun was bright earlier this morning, but clouds are in and out, white clouds, though, which don’t hide the light. Snow has a remote chance later in the morning.

I’m watching the send-off for the Patriots. Thirty Five Thousand people are in Gillette Stadium. Most of them are wearing Patriot’s gear. Send-offs aren’t unusual around here. Crowds even gather to send off the Red Sox equipment trucks to spring training. Even more than robins, those trucks are a sign that spring is coming.

When I was a kid, Sunday was a boring day, the most boring day of all. Nothing was opened. We had to stay around the house. My father monopolized the TV to watch football. None us watched with him. He was always a screamer and sometimes rose out of his chair to yell at the team as if they could hear him. When I was older, my mother and I would sit at the kitchen table and play word games. We didn’t need to watch the TV to follow the game play. We just listened to my father.

My mother cooked my favorite Sunday dinner on Saturday, the day before I left for Peace Corps training. She served roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy and baby peas. We didn’t talk all that much. My parents were sort of still in shock that I was leaving for two years, and I was going to Africa, a totally unknown place to all of us. That scared them. I was more excited than scared. My parents drove me to Logan Airport. My father had purchased a plane ticket for me. Peace Corps had sent a bus ticket to Philadelphia, and my father said no way. We walked together to the gate where my parents and I said goodbye. I looked back once and waved. My mother was crying. I know I’ve told this story before, but it is a favorite of mine. I found my seat and started to put all my carry-ons away. There were so many my seat mate asked me if I was running away from home. I told him I was headed to Peace Corps training in Africa. He bought me a couple of drinks. That memory always gives me a chuckle.

“Sunday is the core of our civilization, dedicated to thought and reverence.”

October 26, 2014

The morning is lovely, sunny and seasonably warm. I filled my bird feeders earlier so now there is a line waiting for turns on the perch. I watch from the window over the sink as the different birds fly in and out. The male goldfinches have almost lost their bright colors. The chickadees grab a seed, fly to a branch and tap to get at the kernels. The blue jay fills his cheeks, if birds have cheeks, with several seeds. My deck is littered with sunflower kernels.

Sunday may not be what it used to be, but it is still a quiet day. People tend to stay close to home. The roads are clearer. Some stores are even closed.

I remember those childhood Sundays. My dad watched football. He was a pre-Patriots Giants fan and was most expressive during the games. He’d yell loudly and curse a bit and ask, “What the hell are you doing?” Rhetorical questions are common when watching any game. Name calling too is part of the experience. “You idiot or what an idiot move,” was one of my father’s favorites. It was reserved for stupid plays, interceptions and fumbles. My father always watched alone, and he sat in the big, comfy chair. I sometimes sat on the living room floor and read the comics. My mother spent the morning in the kitchen getting dinner ready. I remember her standing over the sink peeling potatoes. The oven was always on and whatever roast we were having for Sunday dinner was cooking. The small kitchen got warm. I never liked Sundays with church, homework and an early school night bedtime. Its only redeeming factor was the family dinner.


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