Sunday, June 14, 2009

Sweet Sunday

When I was still a good little Catholic boy, going to church on Sunday morning was a real treat. Literally. Forget the service itself, which I endured, but if you were a Catholic you knew the script already: sit, stand, be sorry, kneel, sit, stand, wait in line for cardboard on the tongue, kneel, sit, feel not worthy, stand, etc. The best part of church, however, was after it was over. On the way home, my mom would stop at Dunkin Donuts and let my brother and I pick out the dozen assorted gems of artery-clogging goodness that we would then hurry back to my father who would be watching Gospel Jubilee on the television. Dad didn't go to church with us as he claimed he wasn't Catholic and besides, he just went last Christmas. My dad's favorite doughnuts were the apple fritters which cost a little extra and were nothing more than dough scraps folded together with a little canned apple filling, deep fried and glazed in sugar. We always made sure to get one for him and as I got a little older I was allowed to get one for myself in some sort of white-trash rite of passage. My mother liked the cinnamon and apple-filled, I liked chocolate frosted and my odd little brother liked the cake(!) doughnuts covered in chopped peanuts. Our little family would gather together on these Sunday mornings, my brother and I on the floor in front of the TV fighting over the comics, my mom in the kitchen starting breakfast, my dad in his chair and a half-empty box of fried dough on the living room coffee table. Regardless whatever else was going on in the world, I knew that at least for now, we were safe and happy. And hepped up on sugar...

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