“Aye ya Mate!” Pete said as he jostled Mickey awake. “Aye, tis’ a grand day for pirating me hardy!”
Micky rubbed his eyes, half expecting to see "The Mano'war" laid out in front of him, but all he saw was his bedroom, with its blue walls, pictures of babes, model ships and his brother Pete, talking their favorite pirate talk.
“Yur Mudder wants ye down in the galley fer to eat yur breakfast laddy boy!” Pete said as he walked through the doorway “and me myself be starved to me bones”.
Micky could hear Pete, half singing to himself while walking down the hall “Smells grand, them hot cakes me mudder makes! Aye and we’ll eat em wid…….. “ Pete’s voice trailed off but Micky knew how Pete would finish the sentence “wid blueberry syrup me boys, blueberry fer sure and certain.”
Micky launched himself off the top bunk, getting underway to go downstairs for breakfast. This was Sunday and mother always inaugurated Sundays with pancakes and blueberry syrup. As soon as he arrived in the galley, Pete unveiled a huge stack of hotcakes by swiftly lifting a paper towel off the top as if he were a magician performing an act. “Eat hardy me boys, and git yurs whilst their hot!” Pete howled with delight, smiling broadly as Micky came to the table.
“You boys have everything you need.” Mother said. “Your fathers down at the hardware store, and I’ve got to go down the block to bring your grandfather his breakfast. You stay here and eat and then get dressed so you can go play in the yard. I’ll be back into about 20 minutes.”
Mother picked up a Tupperware container off the counter and hurried out of the kitchen shouting “You boys behave yourselves while I’m gone you hear Call me on my cell if you need anything?”
Micky and Pete heard the slam of the front door as their mother went through it. Their mother brought grandpa his breakfast every Sunday. On Saturdays, Grandpa would come over for a visit. He and the boys would read stories about the sea and the life of pirates; but not on Sundays. Grandpa liked to spend Sunday’s in the early church services and then afterward, have breakfast on his patio. He always told Mother that she didn’t need to cook him breakfast, but she insisted saying that “at least you’ll get one good homemade meal a week!”
Micky could see through the kitchen window the manicured lawn his father liked to keep; and right in the middle of it sat Dad’s lawn mower. “It must be broken or something.” Mikey thought to himself. “That must be why Dad had to go to the hardware depot. After breakfast, I’m gonna go and see what’s the matter with it.”