Every Saturday Morning

Batter on the griddle, seven on the dot Cartoons down the hallway, turned up way too loud You'd flip 'em in your work shirt, sleeves rolled to the joint Syrup warming in a pan 'cause cold missed the point I'd drag my step stool over just to watch you work Flour on the counter, smile in the smirk I didn't know I was learning love Standing on that stool Every Saturday morning, you were building me Pancakes and the hardware store, you let me carry The bag like it was treasure, walking by your side Dad, those little mornings were the whole of my life Every Saturday morning Aisle nine for the hinges, you'd talk to every man Then hand the paper sack to me — "careful now," I am The radio rode shotgun on the slow way home You never rushed a Saturday, you let 'em roam I thought that's just what weekends were Turns out it was you Every Saturday morning, you were building me Pancakes and the hardware store, you let me carry The bag like it was treasure, walking by your side Dad, those little mornings were the whole of my life Every Saturday morning Now I flip them Saturdays for a small one of my own She drags her stool across the floor — and there you are, come home Same seven o'clock sunlight, same too-loud cartoons Every Saturday morning, you were building me Pancakes and the hardware store, you let me carry The bag like it was treasure, walking by your side Dad, those little mornings were the whole of my life Every Saturday morning Happy Father's Day, old man The griddle's on — come on over