One day, we will have to over explain to the next generation that cartoons aired on Saturday mornings only. In return, they will look at you with apparent pity in their eyes, thinking we have networks dedicated to cartoons, you pathetic old person.

When I was a kid, back in the 1970’s, Saturday morning meant two things, cartoons and hungover mom and dad barely lumbering about, their centers of gravity greatly affected, dragging their feet on the ground as if they were sacks of potatoes, it sure smelled like it, doing everything they could to get us out of their hair.

Once, mom had the foresight to say, “I look forward to a future where we could just give the kids some kind of device or medication to make them go away for four to eight hours.”

Dad took a long sip of coffee, staring at the backyard full of fallen yellow and orange leaves, “Yeah, I wish.”