Sunday morning breaks across the Appalachian mountains. The sun makes the sky appear pink above the Blue Ridge. We awaken to the smell of fresh sausage frying downstairs on the stove. Mom has started breakfast of sausage gravy and biscuits. The sound of a radio playing down in the kitchen drifts up. Through our sleepy haze we hear a local preacher telling us the way to be saved. He’s on the radio every Sunday, and his voice is a familiar presence.
We eventually come down for breakfast and the whole family is gathered. We have to eat in a hurry, because we have to get dressed for church. Racing back up the stairs, we don our best dress clothes, shine our shoes and let Mom have a final look at our hands and faces to make sure they are clean. She puts ribbons in our hair and brushes down our cowlicks. Finally we are presentable and ready to go.
At church we look for our friends and work on our coloring papers and crafts in Sunday school. Eleven o’clock and it’s time for preaching. We beg to sit with our friends but to no avail, our mother says we must sit with her. Sit still and behave and don’t talk or pass notes. The pianist starts playing the old familiar song, “I’ll Fly Away”. The choir sings and the offering is taken up. Soon the preacher is shouting and preaching God’s word with vivid enthusiasm. We look around at the small congregation. We have known these faithful members all our lives. We are all family although, without true blood ties. There is much true kin there too. Aunts and uncles, Grandma and Grandpa, and many cousins. Finally preaching is over and we run out to quickly talk to our friends, chase our brothers around the church, or catch the eye of that cute person of the opposite sex and flash a smile, before heading to Grandma’s house for Sunday dinner.
How Grandma gets that dinner ready so quickly is beyond us. We eat until we are stuffed. She has fried chicken, slaw, mashed potatoes, green beans and biscuits. We kids are still in a feisty mood. We kick each other’s feet under the table and make faces to get each other to get tickled and spew out our drinks. Our mother looks at us and shakes her head, and tells us to stop and we do.
Back home, after we change clothes, we all watch Fred Kirby and the Little Rascals on TV. We give the “hi sign”, and laugh when Alfalfa blows bubbles out when he sings. After the show, we go out and play in the yard. We run, we jump and race, we ride our bikes and swing on the tire. We play all evening until our mother calls us to come in.
We eat a bite of light supper and go do any homework we had to do that weekend. We fall asleep on our beds and our mother checks on us to make sure we are covered up and warm in our beds. We dream of the day we had, knowing it will come back around next Sunday, and every Sunday until we are grown.