Sundays are special to me. My dad wakes me up at seven in the morning and I get ready for church. Sometimes, all I want to do is stay and bed and sleep. Sometimes I question the point of going to church at all. But in the end, I always get up and dress. I wash my face, I brush my teeth, I fix my hair, and I head silently out the door with my dad, careful not to wake the rest of the house. I open the garage door, we head to the car, I close the garage door, and we drive away. He lets me drive the two minutes to church. He gets out of the car first, and then I get out. I lock the door and hand him the keys. I’m always afraid I’ll lose the keys. Then we walk through the doors of the church together and we sit in the pews, waiting for church to begin. When it does, we stand and sit, kneel and walk, sing and pray. When it ends, we leave and I drive. We head to Jewel and I find the best parking spot. We head inside and we shop. When we first began shopping together, we were pretty slow. But now, we know the place inside out. That’s because he and I have a system. I go one way and he goes the other, but only for a while. We meet up again and finish our shopping. We buy the food and head out the door. What I love most about my dad is that he still cart-surfs done the small hill to our car. I trail after him, yelling that one day he’ll get hit by a car. We get home and put the groceries away. By then, everyone else is awake and moving. All my dad and I want to do is sleep, so we find our special places and take a nap for a while. Later, we watch a movie. It’s a black and white movie, because those are our favorites. But, it has to be a mystery. It’s always a mystery. The day quickly comes to an end and we all go to sleep. Sunday mornings are always special to me for one reason: I get to spend it with my dad. I realize that when I grow up, I won’t be living with my family. My dad won’t wake me up and take me to church and grocery shop every week and I won’t always get to see him nap in his special place. I’ll be living with my own family. My dad always says that one day I’ll be doing the same thing with one of my kids and I’ll tell him or her the same story over and over again how my dad and I went to church and shopped every Sunday. Who knows? One day, I might do that, or I might not. If I do then my dad and I would have started a family tradition. If not, then I still have the memories of my favorite day of the week: Sunday.