When I was a. boy, we never had lunch on Sunday. It was always a “mid-day dinner” and we ate the leftovers for supper.
Sunday Dinners were special. After church, we came home to a feast of roast beef, leg of lamb, ham, pork loin, fried chicken or some other heavy entree. The “dinner” came with all the fixing’s – rolls, gravy, green beans, boiled potatoes, pickled beets, sliced tomatoes and then dessert. Always desert. This was a tradition in the south and we maintained that tradition through the early years of our marriage.
Another Sunday afternoon tradition was a fishing trip with Daddy. There was a small creek behind our house with muddy banks and it was full of worms. Before each trip, Daddy and I would dig a Maxwell House can full of worms and head for the Beckley, WV city reservoir.
After Sunday dinner, Daddy always insisted on an afternoon nap. He probably just napped for an hour, but it seemed an eternity to a 10-year old boy who loved fishing more than life itself. While Daddy napped, I paced back and forth, checked on the worms every five minutes and readied the bamboo poles and the tackle box for the trip.
I couldn’t understand how anyone would want to take a Sunday afternoon nap when there were fish to be caught.
Last Sunday, I figured it out.
We rarely have large meals at midday anymore, but last Sunday we had guests at 1 PM and served a big meal of ham, sweet potatoes, green beans, fruit salad, rolls and – yes – dessert. While chatting after the meal, the thought of a Sunday afternoon nap grew more and more appealing. I could barely keep my eyes open.
Finally, the company left, and I crashed on the sofa. Probably didn’t sleep but 45 minutes, but I woke up rested and refreshed. There is something to be said about a Sunday afternoon nap. It’s just too bad that afterwards I didn’t have a 10-year old around to take fishing.