Hello there, cherished reader! You may now believe that you have come onto yet another fluffy, mushy “feel good” post. However, what’s the deal? If you have a soft place for the good old days, I double-dog dare you to stay around until the end of this piece. I promise you, I’m as likely to evaporate and disappear as I am to lead you astray!
Allow me to transport you back to a time when Sunday dinners were a feast fit for a king, Elvis was the star of the show, and gas was cheap. I’m sure all of you remember how special and sacred Sundays used to be. Not simply because it was the Lord’s Day, though that is very significant, but also because of what I like to refer to as “Screwball Sundays.”
Imagine it. The aroma of my mother’s pot roast filling the kitchen, blending with the fresh, autumnal breeze. My siblings and I would play pretend to be anything from astronauts to cowboys while running barefoot in the backyard while Daddy fixed anything broken around the house while humming hymns.
I get what you’re thinking, Mary, but what the heck is a Screwball Sunday? Well, just give it some time. I suppose you could call it a little bit of inventiveness, but Mama had a tradition that has stuck in my memory like a calf’s brand. You see, after the day was planned and we had all attended church, Grandma would seat us down and give us each a screwball. Not the baseball diamond, though; a real house key stuck into a wooden block. I’m not kidding. That was the strangest, funniest family activity you’ve ever heard of!
The objective of the day would be to unscrew the key from the wood using just our brains and bare hands. We would congregate, each holding our screwball. It was not only absurdly difficult, but it was also a godsend since it kept us out of trouble for at least an hour. My mother laughed now like it was a beautiful day; the sound alone might take your mind off your problems. And trust me, she would laugh hysterically at the sight of us youngsters fiddling with those screwballs. Daddy would join in, laughing so warmly in his gut that he could make Santa Claus blush.
It was quite annoying back then, but it’s humorous now. When our mother wasn’t looking, we would try using our hands, our teeth, or even the cooking utensils. And there would be kisses and hugs everywhere if we succeeded in unscrewing it. If not, it wouldn’t matter; we would just have to wait for our opportunity at glory on Sunday. The lesson didn’t dawn on me until years later, but it was good, clean fun, and sometimes the trip is worth more than the reward.
Yes, those were different times, indeed. None of the nonsense that appears in the news these days. Just regular people that love God and the little things in life. No glitzy technology to stifle pleasant times, no cancel culture to keep kids from swinging their feet off the ground beneath the table.
There was always potential for mischief, of course. I still clearly recall the day my brother tried to test my reaction by pouring wood glue into my screwball. I nearly lost a tooth while biting into that damned thing as the glue cured! While cleaning me up, Mama couldn’t stop laughing despite her tantrum over the glue.
Let me now go back to the point before I stray too far down memory lane. Back then, there were a lot of free experiences that made us feel wealthier on the inside. Sundays were a holy day to slow down and reestablish connections with family, faith, and the quirky small customs that add character to life, rather than a race to do the week’s worth of tasks. Those screwballs taught me patience, perseverance, and the importance of family time among all the joy and laughing.
Now go ahead and laugh at me and my antiquated methods, skeptic reader. However, don’t discount the wisdom in these stories too quickly. Sometimes the simplicity and unwavering affection weaved throughout an occasion make it unforgettable rather than its grandeur. Your heart will be warmed more by simple, frequently humorous memories than by gold, long after your work title and accolades have faded.
Here’s to always remembering the better, carefree days—the Screwball Sundays—that keep us grounded, make us laugh, and, above all, make us give thanks to the Almighty for each and every memory engraved in our hearts. So go ahead and start your own “screwball” tradition, whatever it may be, on Sunday. May you have a full heart, laugh aloud, and have unwavering love for your family.
