Lazy Sunday No More
Sunday mornings. Those two words bring to mind lounging in bed, reading the paper, sipping coffee, and brushing crumbs from the sheets. They bring to mind moments that I wish existed, but don't. Not any more. When I was a child in Boston I remember watching the cartoons on channel WLVI 56 on Sunday mornings. That was after I had exhausted my favorite ones on other channels. I had a television in my room then, and on Sunday mornings I remember the sun passing by the window and me playing in and on the bed while the television was on. I would reluctantly get up and get dressed when the first movie came on, around twelve. My mother could tell me to get up all she wanted, I was staying there until midday. Then, I got older and I got up earlier, but never before nine. After a week of getting up at seven while in primary school, and at six while in high school, nine seemed a more decent hour to me. Not eight thirty, not eight fifty, but nine o'clock on the dot. And if nine fifteen,...