You could argue that I am benefiting from recent changes in my life. Previously, because of things I have written for publication on alternate Saturdays, I would endure immediate commentary, sometimes politely critical, about my meditations regarding life and the world in which we live.
That schedule left Sunday as a day to lie on my back and look at the clouds or, if I were indoors, to lift my feet when Becky wandered by with the vacuum cleaner. That darn machine is noisy and interferes with the audio from our television. You would think Becky would be more considerate.
Recently, The Journal Gazette described the changes going forward in the new Weekend Edition each Saturday. The Weekend Edition will include some reader favorites from what had been the Sunday newspaper.
My meanderings will appear on alternate Fridays. Out of the cobwebs of my brain come suspicions about the day on which I was born.
I have suspected over the years that I was born on a Friday in order to allow my mother to enjoy Saturday. As the group Chicago sang, “Saturday in the park, I think it was the Fourth of July, People dancing, people laughing, A man selling ice cream … I’ve been waiting such a long time for Saturday.”
My suspicion, paranoid certainly, is that a Gregorian calendar will confirm that I was born on a Friday. I’m not saying Mom smoked a cigar to celebrate but I bet she felt relieved that her Saturday would be free.
I also bet the calendar would reveal Mom permitted my sister to be born on a Saturday. Mom always liked her best and probably sacrificed that one Saturday for her.
I cannot change the past, so I will focus on my love of television. Unfortunately, not all programming consists of IU basketball victories, golf tournaments or the PBS program “All Creatures Great and Small.” To fill the gap, I watch reruns of television programs.
Television illustrates the apparent favoritism for Saturday over Friday. Because of the success of NBC’s “Saturday Night Live,” ABC attempted in 1980 to copy that success with a show titled “Fridays.”
Guests on “Fridays” included Andy Kaufman, Billy Crystal and George Carlin. “Fridays” survived only three seasons. Like a watch that goes on ticking or a faucet that goes on dripping, “Saturday Night Live” survives. It is older than some of my socks.
Another constant in my viewing habits is the news, not always an encouraging element of my day.
That can be because of current events or it can be because I have to listen to Becky say something like “Can you believe that?” or “Gee, that fellow is one handsome guy.”
Handsome? I bet he was born on a Saturday.
As for what I believe, I try to accommodate Becky and agree that some recent occurrence or statement on the tube was ridiculous. With regard to some handsome dude, however, what can I do or say? He is what he is. I am what I ain’t.
The difficult aspect of television viewing is the subjective aspect of both my choices and my opinions. What excellent programing do I miss by worrying about whether Rory McIlroy finally wins the Masters?
Rory and his fellow professional golfers succeed or fail by their individual decisions and actions. When it comes to team sports, it is more subjective. Why does a coach play player “X” instead of player “O”? Is it because the coach wins more often at the paper game of X’s and O’s when the coach gets to be the X?
Does Purdue’s basketball coach play 7-4 Zach Edey because his backup center is 5-7? Is Painter prejudiced against short people? Was Edey born on a Saturday?
I accept that my lot in life probably started on a Friday, long, long ago. That may explain why my name begins with the letter “F.”
If born on a Saturday, I could have been “Sky” Hill. There would be no limit to what I could do.
Instead, I am pretty sure I was born on a Friday. What a difference a day makes.
Frank Hill is a Fort Wayne resident.
