Unlike the more recent Saturdays of My Life, I used to rise very early. It would be a terrible waste to sleep through Saturday cartoons, so an internal alarm clock woke me earlier than my electric one did on school days. Though I remember numerous arguments with siblings regarding TV content on my family’s one TV, we managed a delicate truce on Saturdays. Chalk it up to a shared love of programming. Cartoons brought out our best qualities: I was willing to endure my brother’s monster shows because I knew one of my favorite shows would come next: Lassie’s Rescue Rangers, Road Runner, or my all-time favorite, Scooby Do. Those mornings were memory-making moments in time for us. We never bothered to change out of our crumpled nightgowns or pajamas, nor did we waste time running a brush through our hair. Waking adults only led to parental demands that we leave the den and come into the kitchen for breakfast, so we usually tip-toed down the stairs as quietly as possible. Breakfast, when it could no longer be avoided, usually involved a quick meal of slurped-down cereal. The boxes themselves were more interesting those days, but best of all, they often contained “toys” – cheap items that usually couldn’t be “played with,” but which were the source of many fights over ownership nonetheless. I have a special place in my heart for those long mornings that, unfortunately, became afternoons. “Afternoons” began when the TV programming switched from cartoons to sports, and fathers replaced children on the couches.