Lazy Saturday with Dad

Saturday was once a safe haven for a school-aged Michael Dougherty. The guarantee of relaxing on Saturday morning was as iron-clad as the sun coming up that very day.

Friday nights were parentally sanctioned late nights. At the tender age of 6 or 7 I would be able to force myself to stay awake to the unthinkably late hour of 10pm. It was just enough time to see ABC's "TGIF" comedy block to its end witness the beginning credits for a "Mission: Impossible" rerun before exhaustingly making my way from the living room to my bedroom. A deep thinker at an earlier age, I would often tell my parents Friday night's sleep was always the best because of my sheer level of fatigue. I was able to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow rendering me immune to the normal nightly nuisances. The intriguing sounds of my parents talking or my father's TV habits were unable to jar me in my weekly Friday induced coma.

I also slept soundly knowing what was in store for me when the sun rose. Saturday mornings were just about as sacred as the Friday nights that prepared me for them. I am one of the millions who can add "Saturday Morning Cartoons" to their list of treasured memories and pastimes. A wide array of animated bills awaited me on this morn. I would usually unearth myself from bed at the unglodly hour of 7am. When I was extremely young I would insist my parents awaken at this hour, as well. This was always met with a certain form of masked annoyance from good old Mom & Dad.

My favorite part of this Saturday morning ritual was the one thing I could always count on. You see...sometimes the occasional golf match or college football contest put my reruns of the Sonic the Hedgehog animated series at risk. However I had one certainty could never be hindered taken away. As frustrated as my dad was with my early morning wakeup calls...he always came out for just a little while. He'd grumblingly kick me out of their bedroom. I'd walk out of there with a huge smile on my face. While it may have appeared all was lost...I knew I was the victor!

I would go lie down on the couch having already pre-selected our TV program before the mission began: to watch the only cartoon I could never miss on Saturday. I would wait until I would smell the familiar sound of whatever aftershave my dad wore. "Move over!" I would then hear. Half asleep, my dad would cram right there on that couch and lie down next to me so we could watch a cartoon together. "Its about to start, "I would say. "It looks like a good one! Slimer gets kidnapped!" For it was time for our weekly episode of "The REAL Ghostbusters" animated series to begin.

Being enchanted by the Summer blockbuster film of only a few years prior, my dad & I loved the Ghostbusters. We would lie there together every saturday morning for 30 uninterrupted minutes of paranormal psychiatry at its best by the very best men in the business. Dr Peter Venkman and his team. While Dr Venkman was a paranormal psychiatrist...the therapy this morning ritual provided me with is beyond anything I've ever gotten in a shrink's office.

While dad would fall asleep occasionally throughout the show...I always knew he was still into it. At my young age I was still always thankful that my dad took this time to bond with me every Saturday morning. But now that I am adult and, like him, work an insane amount of hours to keep a household together...I am even more appreciative that he took his only day of sleeping in to spend it with his first-born son. I don't know if he was aware of how much those mornings meant to me...and still do. But they had a tremendous impact on the man I am today. A man who considers bonding with someone you love as the utmost priority in life.

Once the credits rolled up on Ghostbusters he would usually retreat into the bedroom for another hour of sleep. I was always perfectly okay with this, as I was very understanding of how hard he worked.

He could've slept all the way through each Saturday morning and nobody would fault him for it. But my dad recognized a unique opportunity to do something with his son that was very important to him. It was something that didn't require a bunch of money to be spent, tickets to be purchased or even special atire to be put on.

It was the simplicity of a man and his little boy watching a cartoon together. The simplicity of a young man getting to be at the center of attention of his hero. This ritual didn't require ANYTHING more than us...but it meant EVERYTHING to me. It still does.

We're both a lot older now and I figure we'd cause damage to most couches if we tried to lie across it. But I am extremely grateful to say that even though years have passed and life has continued to happen...I still get that feeling from my dad. Only nowadays it isn't from a cartoon. It can be in the form of a phone call, text message, hug, and sometimes even stern lecture. No matter the delivery, the bonding and love is there,

For this...I am eternally grateful. I love you, dad