I often don’t think about the writing prompt I want to offer up until I sit down to write. But today’s prompt came to me while I was taking a bath. While I was soaking in our garden tub, my husband and son laid on the bed watching an old black and white movie with Tarzan. I kept hearing Evan ask questions. I loved that he was interested and that he was actually asking questions about it.
As I took in that moment, I was immediately taken back to my childhood. To some of the old movies I watched on TV with my dad and I knew that’s what I wanted write about.
Today’s Writing Prompt: How did you spend your Sunday mornings growing up? What are some of your favorite memories?
Here we go…
Easy like Sunday morning. I like the song but I like the mantra even better. There’s just something inherent about a Sunday morning that is just so relaxing to me. It might be because we don’t go to church. I’m not a big fan of church-going. It’s just not my thing. And one of the things that makes it unappealing it that it cuts into my Sunday morning.
Growing up, we were random church goers. My mom would get a wild hair to try some new church. Once I was old enough, I would pretend to be sleeping like a log and unable to be roused for church. But during the off times when church wasn’t a regular thing, or wasn’t a regular thing I was trying to avoid, I would watch TV with my dad.
My dad and I have had a rocky relationship over the years but I have to admit that most of my childhood memories of him are very endearing and have an impact on some of the ways I live my life. Sundays mornings are just a little part of that.
It always started off with him drinking coffee, black, in his mug appropriately labeled “Dad.” And he always sat and watched CBS Sunday Morning. It was hosted by Charles Kuralt and I just remember how soothing it was. It played into the easy Sunday morning feeling. Every broadcast ended the same way. A scene from nature with no soundtrack other than that which naturally occurred in the scene. A babbling brook, a quiet snowy mountain. It calmed me in a way I miss.
And then, there was always the unending supply of Blondie movies. These were the black and white films with Dagwood, Blondie, Alexander, and Baby Dumpling. They were silly and predictable and yet my dad always turned them on. And I always sat and watched them with him. I still don’t know why I loved those movies so much. Perhaps it was the simplicity of the movie, the silliness of the humor, and the nice and easy flow on a Sunday morning.