Familiar moments float to the surface of my memory pool at Easter time. I can’t imagine anyone not enjoying leisure time with the Sunday comics, but I believe my fondness for the funnies traces back to the Easter mornings I spent with Dallas Clapsadle.
Since my family made a 20-minute drive into town for early Easter church service, it wasn’t practical to go home and drive back again for the later service. We went to both services because Mom sang with the choir.
Our church friends, the Clapsadles, invited us to come to their house in town and spend the hour wait. It was always a welcome invitation, giving us a chance to freshen up in their bathroom, listen to Babe’s infectious laugh (a nickname; her real name was Evelyn) as she chatted with my mother, and best of all, I waited for Dallas to stretch out on the patio recliner that sat across the wall of their kitchen beneath a bright picture window.
Comics in his hand, he would pat the lounge beside his lap, inviting me to cozy up beside him to look at the brightly colored newsprint
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