I believe in Sundays. I believe in what a special day it can be. For me it was a day of peace at home with my family doing family things. My mom would make homemade spaghetti sauce on Sundays, a batch that would last us a whole month, which is a lot considering we’re Italian. I helped make the meatballs for my mom’s day long task. I would use bread crumbs, spices, ground beef and roll all the ingredients up with my hands into perfect spheres for my mother’s judgement. Then she would put it into the sauce and my job was done. It was everyone in the family’s task to stir the sauce whenever someone walked through the kitchen, a house rule. For the eight hours it took to slow cook, the whole house would fill with the scent of sweet roasted tomatoes and cooked sausage.
Sunday was the day I didn’t make plans, ever. That was a rule in my mind. With how hectic life got, I needed a day without my peers influencing my every decision. A day with just my family to think about. I would go get donuts with my dad in the mornings. The donut list was: a vanilla cake, vanilla icing rainbow sprinkled donut for me, a glazed chocolate bar donut for my mom, a messy bear claw for my dad, and a raised chocolate donut for my brother Joey. We would always get two fun wildcard ones to make half-a-dozen. I would carry the pink box filled with yummy happiness on top of my lap in the back seat of the car on our way home and bring them into the house to be greeted with the smiles of my mom and Joey just getting out of bed.
Sunday is the purest of all days. Mass on Sunday was always something my mom, dad, brother and I would attend as a family. When I was little my favorite part of mass was kneeling, when I was still small enough my dad would kneel and I would stand in front of him. I would fold my little fingers and he would fold his hands over mine. Sunday was the day we visited my grandparents after five o’clock mass to have dinner. Eventually that visit ended up at Holy Sepulchre Cemetery instead of their house after they passed away. This became a new tradition that I didn’t love but participated in to make my dad happy. It was something that made him feel better so I didn’t question it. Feeling close to my dad was what I ultimately cared about. I loved laying on the couch watching the final round of a golf tournament with him. I enjoyed him being relaxed and not at work but instead spending time with me.
Sunday is the day of reminiscence, the day unlike all the other days of the week. Sunday gives me a day for family and simplicity before the business of life kicks in with Monday. Sunday activities are slow paced, small. Sundays are happy. Sundays are mine.
Maddy Canale is a freshman pre-business major at TCU from Orange County, California. Her interests include politics, volunteering, and traveling. She enjoys spending time with her family and friends and is looking forward to her time ahead in college.