“Teach us to number
our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” ~ Psalm 90:12
Memory is a
curious thing—stirred by the craziest triggers. Last Saturday, I woke with a
thought I hadn’t revisited in years: Saturday morning cartoons.
It must have been
around 1960. After a long week in second grade, I’d wake to a silent house and
quietly sneak out from under the covers. No one else stirred—the family’s only
TV was all mine. A bowl of Cap’n Crunch in hand, I’d settle onto the living room
floor and turn on my favorite “toons.”
The anticipation built all week, making those
few hours feel like a reward. Saturday mornings felt
like freedom itself—simple, joyful, entirely ours. Life was good!
Popeye, Yogi Bear, and Road Runner filled the
screen. Their stories—heroes, villains, and simple lessons—stretched our
imaginations and became training
grounds for imagination, empathy, and fellowship. shaped how we saw
the world. Catchphrases and commercials followed us to the playground, becoming
a shared language among friends.
My favorite was Bugs Bunny. He didn’t rely on
strength, but on wit—outmaneuvering Daffy Duck, Elmer Fudd, and Yosemite Sam
with timing, humor, and just enough mischief.
When the cartoons ended, the rest of Saturday
began. We were sent outside—onto bikes, into backyards, or into the street for
pickup games of anything requiring a ball or puck. The rules changed just
enough to keep the game going until someone yelled from a porch that it was
time to come home.
Looking back, stories have always shaped us.
My father’s generation gathered around the radio, listening as voices brought
entire worlds to life. In my youth, we had books, movies, and three television
channels—each shared by millions at the same moment.
As televisions spread into American homes,
studios adapted. Advertisers followed, and cartoons became more than
entertainment—they became marketing. Sugary cereals and cheap toys filled the
spaces between stories, turning Saturday mornings into a mixture of fun and
commerce.
By the 1970s, the ritual had begun to fade.
Stories shifted toward superhero themes and social programming. The simple,
shared joys of early cartoons were replaced by a focus on selling products.
Technology brought remarkable convenience, but it quietly took something with
it: the experience of gathering, sharing, and remembering.
I still miss my friends—Tweety, Bullwinkle,
and Porky Pig. But what I miss most is the little boy who thought Saturday
mornings would last forever. They didn't. None of them do. That's why we must
learn to number our days—not by counting the years we've lived, but by
cherishing the moments we've been given before they're gone.
Father God, thank You for my family. Our
earthly time is short, so help us to slow down and truly cherish moments we
share together. The most meaningful moments are often found in the simplest
gestures and the warmest bonds. Amen
