Sonntag, Februar 20, 2011

Sunday, Sunday

February 20/11........9:20 a.m.

To put it straight, sunday is not my favoured day of the week. It might have something to do with childhood memories, somehow sunday had been such a day of boredom on one side and  obligations on the other side.  Only thing, one could stay in bed a little longer, but then it started, had to help mother to prepare breakfast, had to help do the dishes, had to go to church during my formative years and then, after a long lunchtime meal, where usually my brothers got to fight over desert who had gotten the bigger portion, had to help with the dishes again. Then, after the afternoon sunday coffee- cake time , the whole family took a long boring walk. Anyway, till my father got his first car. Then it had been long drives into the countryside, sometimes surprising my aunt, who lived about 100 kms away and usually broke out in tears when we showed up, because she hated surprise visits.  I do not blame her. So I got to know the radius of about 100 kms around my parent's home pretty well and by the time we got home from our drive , my parents were in the no talking state, because my mother, who had no driver's license, always knew better and had been giving my father instructions till he blew his top and then my mother sulked.  Well, after sandwich time in the evening, there came the worst part, the whole family assembled around the radio,  later on it had been television, to listen to resp. watch a show and my mother presented a basket of socks full of holes, belonging to my dad and brothers and mom and daughter had to mend the holes. This had been the moment when I wished I had been one of my brothers!  Mind you, dad produced holes big as potatoes and I could have broken out into a screaming fit having to mend them. 
I never repair a sock now-a-days, off into the garbage they go. This is my revenge.

Later on, when I had my own life, sundays could be very pleasant days, only bad thing had been,that the next day had to be monday. But somehow memory of those childhood sundays sticks and they do not brighten up with time.                                                                     

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