Floyd And Betty Lou

I don't think I actually ever set my sights on being an early riser. I always just was, to the annoyance of several. If there was ever an early morning rustling of anything of any type...probably me. But after years of trying so hard to tip-toe around, eventually, it's like to hell with it, get up already.

The act of sleeping in always seemed to be attached to other families and not mine. There was a kind of foreign sort of element to it, maybe a little bohemian or a little whiff of affluence maybe, like I knew what that was. My family seemed to be the family who invented daylight.
On Saturday mornings as a kid, I would saunter or ride my Typhoon down the sidewalks of my neighborhood long before the first lawn mower cranked up. I would ring the doorbell and eventually Floyd or Betty Lou would open their door while the rest of the family was still asleep. And with as much kindness as they could muster at that hour, request that I return at a more reasonable time.
A more dejected kid may not have returned. But I didn't know any better.
I turned away and walked down the street, along their 7 foot high fence that we weren't supposed to climb and through Meyers backyard into McGhee's Woods for awhile until I did hear the lawn mowers. And then head back up to Floyd and Betty Lou's to see if Susie was awake.