Church ends and the people issue forth with the command to spread the Good News. These days many are headed for the nearest or most recently arrived restaurant. I have nothing against that. In fact, when the kids were growing up we did that on many Sundays. We’d meet other young families from the church. The children bonded over coloring books and nuggets while the parents bonded over burgers and conversation. Happiness was a Happy Meal. Nothing like when I was a kid.
We would attend the 11 o’clock service. Back then that’s the only one we had. Sunday school was at 9:30. Coffee hour, which was really only twenty minutes, was at 10:30. Then traditional worship was at 11. I say “traditional” since with the arrival of contemporary services you have to specify. But back then it was just “church”.
It was a rare occasion if we ever went out to eat, let alone after church. In fact, the only time I recall attempting it was on one Mother’s Day in the early 70’s. We didn’t make reservations so it was after two that afternoon before we could find a restaurant that could take us. Needless to say it was the first and last time we attempted that.
That’s not to say we went straight home after service. When I was a kid, we may have been sent forth to spread the Good News, but we always stopped to pick up the bad news first. To let you know how long ago “back then” was, information was often written on large sheets of thin paper. The pages were stacked, folded and bundled. They were called “newspapers” and you could buy then at the local newsstand. And that was our Sunday-after-church tradition.
We had the local paper delivered every day. But the folks liked to read the Sunday paper from Atlanta and sometimes New York (mom’s old stomping grounds). Mom would pick up a magazine. Dad would snag a couple of papers and replenish his supply of Life Savers. He always had a roll in his shirt pocket, usually mint of some kind.
It was the occasional comic book for me. But what I really loved were the puzzles and pranks. There were the wooden puzzle blocks that were made of a zillion different odd shaped pieces that would only fit together one way. There were the “magic” metal rings that you had to figure out how to separate and then how to put them back together. The rarely came with the solutions. When they did, they were written in a font so small you had to have an electron microscope to see them and a degree in physics to understand what they meant.
There were gags like disappearing ink and the exploding pen. I recall be allowed to get the ink but not the pen. It would be some years later that I would finally acquire one through a shrewd trade that likely involved bubble gum cards. In case you never had the great privilege of owning one, the exploding pen had a spring loaded clapper that you would pull back. Then you would load a cap like we used to use in cap guns into the slot, slide the cover back on the pen and wait for an unsuspecting victim. My last victim was one of my elementary school teachers which is why I no longer have the pen.
After a good half an hour of browsing, we’d make our purchase and head for the house where lunch was ready just after one. It usually involved a roast or a chicken that had been mostly prepared prior to church. Then it was time for the folks to dig into their papers while I learned how to be a man by attempting the puzzles without bothering to read the directions. Once I reached the point of penultimate frustration, it was time to turn to the directions. But not owning the aforementioned microscope, they did me no good. I would eventually give up and go outside to play with the other kids in the neighborhood. The day I no longer even bothered to consult the directions was the day I understood what it means to be a man.
I didn’t have a sister, but I’m certain that things are similar for girls growing up. The difference being that they read the directions first. Then they reassemble the puzzle while their frustrated, knuckle-dragging brothers are outside playing.
I miss those visits to the newsstand. The smell of newsprint, mint candies and gum can’t be found by “Googling”. Fortunately you can find You Tube videos on how to put those wooden cube puzzles back together. Now if I still had all the pieces!
http://accesswdun.com/article/2017/11/610429/some-things-just-cant-be-googled