Saturday morning meant Saturday morning cartoons. In the still dark, I make my way on tip-toes, almost hovering through the hallway, feeling along the wall, to the living room. I turn on the television, turn the volume to almost silent so I don’t wake her. The room is glowing white from the cathode ray tubes humming and buzzing the television to life, so I can start my day with the antics of Diarrhea Dog, Hong Kong Phooey, Tom and Jerry. It is an endless list. My face was only inches away from the television screen. Hours of cartoon violence, anvils dropped on heads, shotgun blasts, bulging eyeballs, these images burned into my retinas along with the lead and radiation from smoldering glass vacuum tubes. The perfect Saturday morning.
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