Traditions

Remember the Good Ol' Days, when we snuck out of bed at 6am, turned the tv on (by hand, no remote!) soaked up all the cartoons that were on, because they were only on on Saturday mornings? Bugs Bunny. Elmer Fudd. The Roadrunner - I loved him! Two blackbirds whose names I don't even recall.....then along came the Muppets.

Either way, you left your (what you thought were unknowing parents asleep in bed) loaded a serving bowl with cereal and milk, glued to the tv. The one morning you could do that. How great was life?

Around nine or so (or whatever, every house does, indeed vary - especially in mine growing up, there was always a squalling infant to cut tv time short) Dad would come in, snug up on the sofa, cup of coffee in one hand, laughing right along with you. He loved the Roadrunner too.

Meep. Meep.

There were more cartoons to be had, after that one hour of really depressing news about starving children in Africa, and all the ugly things occurring down there - but I don't recall that in as living color as I do watching Whil. E. Coyote chasing Roadrunner.

Skip ahead a generation. My little guy could be inundated, on a daily basis (and wishes it were so!) with every cartoon under the sun, any time, day or night. Flapjack. Spongebob. Chowder. Phineas and Pherb. Ugh. We have very limited tv watching in this house, on most nights - and while I may not hold dear many (read:most) of the skills my mother used when raising me, Saturday Morning Cartoons, remain sacred, holy ground.

He's seven and some change now; he can make his own cereal, or open a pop tart; he enjoys the freedom of knowing that he has to keep the volume down, but he can watch Tom & Jerry until I stagger out (no later than 8am) to join him. He laughs more at the Frankenstien/Medusa hair I'm sporting, with my jammies and pillow case marks still on my face -

We snug up, with coco, or something, and laugh. Just like my dad and I did.

Saturday mornings?

A tradition to never be broken.