Friday, October 16, 2015
Sometimes on a Saturday morning when the night sky covered the whisper of birds beginning their day; my mom and dad would go to Mancini's bakery for a loaf of warm twist bread. They would drive the station wagon all the way to Lake Erie; its sputter making the sounds of the AM radio's oldies channel more important. And just when the sun would rise and the sky would turn a golden pink; the small waves would dust the gravel beach; they would hold hands, share the bread and think about their children and our futures. They would pray and talk about my moms health, she would cry. Sometimes they'd have pepperoni, or olive oil, but most often it was plain bread, a sky, and just those two kind souls loving being married.