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Sunday = pizza

As I remember it, when I was growing up, we had pizza almost every Sunday. I’m sure we didn’t have it every Sunday and I know this didn’t start until sometime after grade school, but in my mind, Sunday equals pizza. There were the perennial toppings and crust disagreements. Mom and Dad wanted the pizza loaded; I just wanted cheese. Mom and I wanted thick crust; Dad liked thin and crispy.

More often than not, Sunday is still pizza day for me. No more discussions or decisions about toppings and crust since I live alone – takes all the fun out of it. I could go over to Mom’s house and we could disagree about ingredients, but I’ll never get to disagree with Dad about crust again.

Yesterday was mom’s birthday (happy birthday, Mom!) and the 6th anniversary of Dad’s death. So, even though this is the wrong kind of crust, this slice is for him – wherever he is.

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