Sunday Morning Lessons

Every Sunday morning my beautiful Grandfather brought lox and bagels to the house. His gifts included a Sunday newspaper and a happy-go-lucky attitude that filled the place. He would sing his way to the kitchen and I followed him there like a puppy. The unpacking of bagels and cream cheese and lox, the hummed renditions of Frank Sinatra songs, the mysterious grown up joking; all a Sunday morning ritual.

When the bagels were sliced, the tomatoes and onions were plated, and 1955 radio played “Nature Boy” by Nat King Cole, Grandpa began to teach.

“How did you use your word this week?” Grandpa would ask.

Every week, he gave us a word that we had to use - and on Sunday mornings the report was due. “Grandpa, the teacher said there was no such word as Umber.” “And what did you tell her?” he asked. “She said I had it wrong (ignoring his question) she said it was amber.” “And what did you say?” he asked. “I said look it up in the dictionary.”

I was 5 years old and I had the teacher in a headlock. My grandfather’s eyes glistened. “You’re never too old to learn”, he said.

It’s been more than 50 years since that scene occurred, but my love for words and learning continue because of those Sunday morning lessons.


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