It’s Sunday evening, the fall of 1984. Or maybe it’s 1985. Could be later. Truth is, the exact year doesn’t really matter because the routine is always the same.
Dad is in his recliner, an afternoon of football under his belt - along with an impressive array of snacks. Mom is bustling about in the kitchen, pulling a Roma frozen sausage pizza from the oven.
Sunday evening is Mom’s reprieve from cooking a big