2 more days, yo. I can make it!
Tonight’s a FMF, and it’s the most-voted upon topic for the 31 days of writing prompts. The winner is…
Growing up, Sunday Breakfast was my church.
Instead of getting up and dressed for church (one grandparent was Catholic, other was Church of Christ- you can do the math there), i instead got up to the sound of bacon and sausage frying and the smell of coffee. I’d clamor out of bed to go help pat out the biscuit dough, if my nana needed me.
It was the only church I needed at the time- my family, spending a small part of a the week, simply laughing and loving each other. I didn’t see that very often, but I always did on Sundays.
The church building was the kitchen table– the dining room if we had too many guests.
patrons were family- sometimes just the three of us (me, nana, and papa) sometimes my dad; othertimes my aunt, uncle, and cousins. No matter how many, breakfast was always served on Sunday mornings.
Communion was my nana’s famous biscuits– my favorite biscuits to this day– and jelly- red plum was mine and my papa’s favorite, grape for everyone else.
The Word was the Sunday paper. My papa would sit, coffee in hand, pencil in the other, as he’d do the crossword, occasionally asking me for a word or phrase to help him.
The sermon was the conversation– my papa making his random jokes and silly comments, me and my cousins giggling, or me asking my papa questions about history,news, and books–our shared loves. I close my eyes and remember my papa’s gravely voice and deep laugh, the way his eyes sparkled when he made his grandgirls laugh.
The offering was my nana cooking in the background, making sure everyone had their full, and me setting and clearing the table after every meal, occasionally sneaking another biscuit (if there were any left).
It was one of the few times I ever remember our family sitting together– these sunday breakfasts.
It was one of the few moments where everyone just hushed up their problems and drama, and sat around the table with each other, eating and laughing.
And there was always sausage and bacon, passed from person to person, with a smile and a laugh.
Those are the memories of my family I try to remember the most, instead of the ugly ones.
*took a little longer than 5 minutes, if only because my laptop mouse/clicker is giving me drama. Ah, technology!
Family is Family- Kacey Musgraves