As I write this on Saturday morning, I realize how much the times have changed. Saturday mornings have no meaning now, just another day of the week. But there was a time when I was a kid that Saturday mornings were by far the best time in life.
During school days Saturday mornings were especially great. No getting up before sunrise, no putting on your best clothes, no bus trip, no teachers, no tests, and no visits to the principal’s office to get two licks with the paddle.
It was definitely the time to watch TV. This was before Cartoon Network and was the only time for cartoons. All the classics played like Tom & Jerry, Roadrunner, Popeye, Scooby Doo, Flintstones, Jetsons, etc. You could even catch the Little Rascals and the Three Stooges. It was the best programming ever.
And there were lots of short cartoons. I remember one where a guy took a dog in to see a talent agent and said, “This dog can talk. Watch. What’s the opposite of smooth?”
“Rough,” the dog barked.
“What’s that over our heads?”
“Roof,” the dog barked.
“Who’s the greatest baseball player of all time?”
“Ruth,” the dog barked.
The talent agent kicked them both out to the curb. As they got up brushing off the dust, the dog looked at the man and said, “Maybe I should have said Dimaggio.”
Besides being able to relax in your gym shorts and t-shirt without a worry in the world, Saturdays were also the day my dad worked his magic in the kitchen. Dad was a culinary genius and every Saturday morning he put forth a breakfast spread of royal quality. There would be scrambled eggs, cheese omelets, sausage, bacon, homemade biscuits, gravy, grits, tomatoes, hash browns, French toast, and of course sorghum syrup.
I’d pull apart a biscuit, mix in some eggs, crumble up a sausage patty, break some bacon, add some sliced tomatoes, and dip gravy over the entire concoction. I’d leave just enough room on the plate for helpings of grits and hash browns, and then go sit in front of the tube watching the Coyote’s latest order from Acme while shoveling spoonfuls of Southern bliss into my gaping jaws.
The rest of Saturday was far less enjoyable as that was the day Dad would have a list of things he wanted me to help him accomplish, like running fences, planting crops, picking crops, cutting firewood, cutting pulpwood, etc.
But for a few hours every Saturday morning in the world of young Neal Wooten, thanks to all three networks reaching out to kids, and thanks to my dad’s cooking skills, all was right with the world.