fridays

This has been the precursor to my favorite day of the week since I can remember. I mean, Friday is ok, because it signifies the end of the work week, but Saturday - Oh, Saturday! How I love thee. Historically, Saturday was the only day I was allowed to sleep in as a child, but more often than not I chose not.

You see, growing up my father worked second shift and between me going to school and him working I rarely got to spend any quality time with him. But when Saturday morning came -- my father would shake me awake at the crack of dawn and say, "get up, get dressed, I'm heading out in 15 minutes." And adventuring we would go. The first stop was usually the Alcove, a restaurant that the local farmers seemed to frequent (they had the best breakfast ever) or if there wasn't really time for that it would be off to McDino's for some sausage-egg-n-cheese mcmuffins. After breakfast it was off to the lake for a day of bass fishing. Other times you could find us traipsing through the woods looking for wild mushrooms or laboring along the abandoned railroad tracks tirelessly picking the black raspberry bushes. And yet the most frequent activity my father exposed me to was the riotous times of a public auction. There was the excitement of the sale, even if most of the stuff that they were selling was junk. And of course there was the exhilaration of winning a sale and taking home the junk to be confronted with looks of exasperation from my mother.

As the years went by I became a lazy and selfish teenager and my father moved to first shift. And although our Saturday adventures dwindled through the years, the memories continue to live in the stronghold of my heart.

-d.