Meet the Weavers
Has your family ever been mistaken for the Cleavers? You remember, June and Ward? Leave It To Beaver? It is hard to claim to be American and not have seen at least one rerun of this classic sitcom which aired in the late 50s and early 60s. Six full seasons of Theodore “Beaver”, his older brother Wally and their parents have made them the idealized suburban family. I bet they never had a Sunday morning like most of us experience almost weekly.
Does this sound familiar? Let me introduce you to the Weavers. Sunday morning; 8 AM, somewhere in America. Bob Weaver is dressed in his standard Sunday garb - dark slacks, crisp white shirt and tie. He is positioned on his traditional perch – the black leather recliner in the den. With one hand he finishes off his second cup of coffee while the other effortlessly manipulates his smart phone. As he puts down the coffee cup he reclines on his throne and begins monitoring the sounds of his family getting ready for church. His serene weekend morning is about to take a dramatic (and typical) plunge into chaos.
Leslie Weaver is in the kitchen, still in her robe, getting a casserole ready for today’s potluck. Oh, and she is maintaining the silent treatment with Bob that she initiated the evening before when he had failed to address the still leaking faucet in the master bath. By the accusations and commotion audible from upstairs you will recognize that two kids are awake, but more interested in their share of the mirror than actually brushing their teeth.
Now, the words fashionably late are not in Bob’s vocabulary, and he has no intention of being late for church on this, or any other, Sunday morning. “You kids have exactly five minutes to be downstairs and dressed for church!” Bob sternly calls out in the direction of the staircase.
“I don’t know what to wear Daddy,” his 7-year old daughter responds.
“Ask you mother,” he shouts back making sure Leslie can hear his impatience.
Several moments of silence follow until, with a clang of pans in the kitchen, Leslie whisks by without even a glance and storms up the stairs. What is heard next is a volley of commands and complaints as she tells her daughter that she will be wearing the pretty new dress, and then pleads with her 10-year old son to put down the video game, brush his teeth and to put on something presentable.
“You now have four minutes. Don’t make me come up there,” Bob threatens.
Several minutes later the daughter, in her dress, comes moping down the stairs clearly unhappy with the situation, followed by her brother wearing jeans, a tee-shirt covered with battling aliens, and still playing his video game.
“Put that away before I throw it away! And you are not wearing those clothes to church young man,” the father bellows. “Get back upstairs this instant and put on something appropriate. Your mother will help you.”
The boy slowly turns around, defiantly drops his game on the couch and stomps up the stairs making sure every step is as loud as his mismatched socked feet can make.
“Your nice tan pants are hanging in your closet! You can get them yourself. I am curling my hair,” Leslie calls out to her son, her voice echoing through the house.
“Daddy, I am hungry,” states Bob’s daughter.
“You are a big girl now. Get some cereal from the cabinet and milk from the refrigerator,” he states without even glancing up from his smart phone which he continues to feverishly attack now with both thumbs.
The next few minutes proceed in relative silence. Bob gives the Sunday paper a quick look, glances at his watch and stands up to get a final cup of coffee. “It is now 8:30 and we need to leave in 15 minutes!” he exclaims.
Ten minutes later the son comes back downstairs and plops at the kitchen table noticing that his sister is using his bowl for breakfast. “That is my bowl,” he exclaims and begins to reach to reclaim his property.
The sister shrieks in objection and quickly pulls the bowl back towards herself and in the process empties the entire contents down the front of her dress. The next several moments are a blur of crying, yelling and finger pointing. Bob, waving his finger in the air, yells out that he has finally reached the limits of his patience, while his son cowers at the kitchen table and his daughter runs to Mom.
“What happened?” Bob can hear Leslie say to their daughter. “That is going to have to be dry cleaned! Take it off, we will find something else for you to wear.”
“We need to be leaving right now!” Bob pronounces to no one in particular as he heads out the door to the garage.
Ten minutes later Leslie and her still sniffling daughter come back downstairs. Bob is sitting in the car in the driveway getting angrier by the minute while his ignored son has resumed playing his video game. Leslie grabs the casserole and a couple of granola bars to eat in the car, calls to her son to put down the game, and takes her daughter’s hand as they move towards the car.
As everyone climbs into the running car Bob doesn’t even attempt to hide his frustration as he drums his fingers on the steering wheel as everyone gets seat belted. “We needed to be at church five minutes ago,” he announces as he abruptly puts the car in reverse.
The children sit momentarily silent in the back seat while Leslie sits down in front with the casserole on her lap. As Bob begins to back the car out of the driveway she remembers she forgot her Bible. “You did that on purpose,” Bob says under his breath as Leslie hops out to run back into the house.
After she returns with both her Bible and the kids offerings, Bob backs out onto the street while Leslie opens up a granola bar for her breakfast.
“I am hungry,” the daughter says.
“Me too,” adds her brother.
Leslie closes her eyes, clenches her jaw, takes one bite out of the granola bar and then hands the rest of it to her daughter and the other to her son while mumbling, “I hope they have bagels at church.”
For the next fifteen minutes the family drives in silence while the kids eat and the parents stew. As they round the final corner to church Leslie quips, “The bathroom faucet is still leaking.”
Bob clenches his teeth but does not respond. His sharp turn into the church parking lot says it all. “I knew it,” Bob says. “Just great. We are late and our parking spot has been taken. Just great!”
Bob finds another spot a good twenty feet further from the side entrance, pulls in, abruptly stops, opens his door and gets out without another word. The children hop out and the son bolts for the door where his best friend is waiting. Leslie, casserole in one hand and Bible in another, walks alongside her skipping daughter - both trailing Dad by a good 10 feet as he briskly approaches the entrance.
As they approach, the doors are opened by a well-dressed greeter who offers a warm smile and a handshake. “Well, if it isn’t the Weaver’s. How are you doing Bob?” the greeter asks.
“Couldn’t be better,” he lies as he firmly shakes the greeter’s hand. “It is a great day to be in the Lord’s House.”
As they walk down the crowded hallway Leslie shifts into church mode and lovingly announces so others can hear, “Honey, I am going to drop off Suzy at Sunday School and this casserole in the kitchen. I will meet you in class downstairs.”
Without stopping Bob responds, “Thanks dear,” and he makes his way to their Sunday School class on the lower level. He enters to find a handful of young married couples already congregating around the coffee and donuts someone thankfully brought. Mr. Weaver, all smiles and handshakes, walks to the front of the class he and his wife facilitate and quickly scribbles some Bible references on the whiteboard which outline today’s discussions about love – loving God and loving others.
“Now where is my Bible,” he wonders.