Consistency is often more important than a single moment in time. And our Saturdays were consistent. The wake-up call would come between 5 and 6am. (It takes a while to wake up ten sleepy kids). And then the work would begin – an endless stream of chopping wood, mowing lawns, washing windows, weeding the garden. And when we finished our outside chores, the inside ones would come next – cleaning toilets, folding clothes, and trying to find the floor in our rooms. It was sweaty work, and it was hard, but we did it together. And despite all our griping, it prepared us. We were the strongest played on the basketball court and we were the hardest working students. We turned out good because of those work days, but we turned out happy because of what came after. We washed our hands and changed our clothes, and my father always made sure we found some time to have fun. We would grab standby tickets for the Sox game. We would go fishing and always hold the pole since underage fishers do it for free. And when I think back to my childhood, that’s what I remember. Teasing my dad about his Coke-bottle glasses and moving second base on him when we played kickball. Trying to keep up as we chased him through crowds of people. Catching a fish with bare hands (even if it was already dead). The fish may not always be there, but my dad is.