Sunday Will Never Be The Same

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Donald Joseph Briscar

 

The interstate system was still in its' infancy when I was a child , so the family trips from Cleveland to Connellsville,  Pennsylvania  required using the Ohio and Pennsylvania turnpikes and the low mountains and hills  provided us great scenery and when you are six five cows  in the fields tend grab your attention. Most summers would be an extended stay with my grandparents and quite a bit of time spent with aunts and uncles, cousins  and this group of seven kids were not that far apart in years and who couldn't  get along with cousins. For all of us. Our grandfather was the most interesting person that I have ever meet and always entertained with stories and would create personalized ditties about each of us, but me me he sang:

Donnie Joe cut off his big toe and hung it up to dry

the girls began to laugh at Joe and Joe began to cry.

My grandfather did not drive and he walked everywhere including grocery shopping, fishing  and you were always invited to join in the adventure. We waked past a cemetery and he asked me if I knew many people in the cemetery were dead and I threw out a number as if I were to win a prize with a correct guess, and he answered, “all of them”. At the time I did not understand. The summers went by quickly and Mom and Dad always arrived on a Sunday to go back home.

Grand Pap  was a farmer, a fisherman and a volunteer fireman and kept watch over all of us and he enjoyed the summer visit  as much as we did.  I was young teenager when we heard the news of his passing and there was that long ride back to Pennsylvania. The funeral was on a Saturday and the next day we headed home and in one of those weird  moments that we experience , the song playing on the radio was “Sunday Will Never Be the Same” by Spanky and The Gang and I heard my mother say, That is so true”.

 

 

 

 


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