Sunday Mornings

One of the clearest memories I have of my childhood is Sunday mornings. We weren't a religious family, so I didn't have to worry about going to church or anything like that. Sunday generally started with my dad waking us all up with something unusual on the stereo, like the Cabaret soundtrack, or Harry Belafonte. Once everyone was awake, and generally getting up, he'd move to the kitchen and start cooking breakfast.

My dad would turn on different music while he was cooking, occasionally some old gospel or country, but most usually, NPR. We would listen to Car Talk and Lake Wobegon Days as we got breakfast for 10 ready, and I remember laughing at the corny jokes, or hearing the stories my dad would tell to one-up whatever they just said on the radio.

The other night, I was talking to my roommate about NPR. He didn't know what it was, and calling it National Public Radio didn't help. So I went to the nearest comparison I could, and told him NPR is PBS for radio. At witch point he said, "I'm sorry. The more I learn about how you grew up, the sorrier I feel for you." Which, frankly, I still don't understand. Why would he feel sorry for me for enjoying NPR? Is it my comparison to PBS that tainted it? Or am I just that out of touch with normal people that I can listen to it and be entertained?

And by the way, I still enjoy Car Talk and LWD when I have time to listen to them.