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Saturday, July 9, 2011

Saturday Mornings through others people's eyes

Do any of you stop for just a moment and wonder what the world looks like through the eyes of the people surrounding you? Sometimes I have a moment where I'm standing on a tall stool to reach something and I realize my head is the same height as Floyd's. I look around and realize he sees the world from a very different place than I do. Things I will never see without a step stool are common sights to him, but things I see are out of view for him, blocked by items he is above.

I was remembering Saturday mornings from when I was a child just a little bit ago.  In my house growing up, Saturday meant Dad's Day.  Mom was a SAHM and on Saturday she was gone. I am still not sure where she went, but she was never home on Saturday. Especially the mornings and early afternoon. Sometimes she would come home, unload the groceries, put them away and leave again, so I guess she went to the grocery store. But that wasn't all ... where did she go? What did she do? Did she see friends? Did she go somewhere and read  I got to hang out with my Dad. Sometimes we would drive to the junk yard and get parts for one of the cars that might need fixing, on the way home, he would stop and get a Mr. Pibb and let me have a sip or two.  I wasn't allowed to drink pop as a kid, so that was a real treat.

Another neat thing about Saturdays was it was the one day a week I was allowed to eat sugar cereal. There was always 1 box of Rice Krispies, 1 box of Corn Flakes or Raisin Bran in the cupboard.  But way up high, out of reach until Saturday morning, was a Cookie Crisp or Lucky Charms or Capn' Crunch with Crunch berries.  I could have 1 bowl and watch cartoons while I ate it. Another special treat, eating in the living room.

Sometimes it was the day we were cleaning out the garage. Those were cool days. You just never knew what you would be asked to do or what you would find out there. It was a treasure trove, that's for sure. I never thought of it as work, and I never wanted to stay inside. I wanted to be where my Dad was.

From about the time I was 10 years old, we would "go get wood" with my brother Mike.  He made the statement one day to Dad that he wished he could get some free wood so he could heat his house in the winter with his wood stoves.  Well, for many years after that, Dad found people with old trees that needed to be cut down and hauled away and we did that. We would leave very early in my brother's junk truck called "Old Green". It was held together with Duct Tape and Baling Wire and by the time we got back, it would be riding low.  While they were cutting with the chainsaws I laid across the front seat and read my books.  When they were done, it was my job to help throw the pieces of wood I could lift into the back of the truck. They we'd take it to his house and I'd throw them out while Dad and Mike stacked them. It was hot, hard, heavy work, and I don't remember ever not wanting to help. I felt like a "big girl" being allowed to work with the guys. It was fun.

I don't remember when Saturdays stopped being Dad Days, but eventually they did. I guess I just hung out in my room and did homework, read books, watched TV, went to practices for band or one of the many sports I played.  I wonder if Dad enjoyed those times with me as much as I did with him? Now that I'm a Mom, I go grocery shopping with Kathryn on Saturdays. She does half the store, and I do the other half and we meet at the check out lane. Today I had to go grocery shopping by myself and it wasn't nearly as quick and I missed her. Dad got to be with me on those Saturday mornings.  I love my Dad.  I bet Mom really enjoyed the break from the house, the cooking and the kid on those days. I wonder what she did and where she went? I wonder if I asked her now would she remember? If she did, would she tell me?

Back to my original thought ... being able to see the world from someone else's eyes for a little bit. I find it very interesting to consider that. Not really being them, but just seeing what they see and feeling what they feel. Do their feet hurt? Are they tired all the time? Are they happy? Do they wish they were taller, shorter, bigger, smaller?  Am I fun to be around or am I just a fact of life they have to put up with?  How do they see me? How do they think I see them?  What are they thinking about at night when they're in their beds all tucked in and quiet?

I don't believe you really ever know what is going on inside another person, but if you're very lucky, you can see the love they have for you spilling out as they give you that little sip of Mr. Pibb.

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