Sundays have always been a day to sleep in and then have brunch with friends. My parents were not much on Brunch. As a kid I had to go to church at 8am each Sunday or there would be hell to pay Monday when the nuns would ask why I was absent. Believe me there was no good answer to that question.
After Mass my mom would cook breakfast for all of us. Eggs, bacon, sausage, rolls, butter and assorted jams and jellies coffee for my dad and mom, the kids got milk. The conversation was very brief and usually restricted to sports. Dad was a Yankee fan. A big Yankee fan! So as you might guess I am a huge Yankee fan.
When I was young we spent the day pouring over the newspaper my parents reading the news and my siblings and I reading the funny pages. Then the games would come on the radio and after 1959 TV. We also went to Yankee stadium many a Sunday to watch the Yankees play ball. Most Sundays mom would head to the kitchen to begin Sunday supper as we watched the game. Soon the whole apartment would begin to smell great. I would become distracted by the cooking and wander into the kitchen and help mom peel potatoes and watch as she made bread. As a reward I would get to lick the bowl after she made a cake or some other sweet thing.
I remember my parents having parties with music and dancing. Singing songs from the old country, mostly Irish, sung by men with the sweetest voices I have ever heard. When I was around 12 or 13 guests asked me to sing a song for them and I sang a German song that my mom used to sting as I grew up and I loved. There were lots of kids at the parties and we all sang or danced the entire night. Music was always part of the parties and always sung live by friends and family. These were my first concerts, my first music heroes. I never learned to play an instrument and have always envied those who could. I will sing every once in a great while more for my own enjoyment than those who listen.
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