For most holidays, I have vivid childhood memories: church and presents for Christmas, church and eggs for Easter, parades for Memorial Day and 4th of July, food and football on Thanksgiving. Being told by my mom that the reason the mailbox was empty on February 14 was that there were just too many Valentines for me, so they had to burn them, so as not to make others feel bad. I was 22 at the time. Standing in our front yard, on one leg, with my arms unfurled, because my brothers told me it was an Arbor Day tradition for the youngest in the family to pretend to be a Dutch Elm. My performance as a tree was given the "Legs Up" by the neighborhood dogs.

Then, there was Labor Day. As a kid, I spent most of Labor Day in front of the TV watching the Jerry Lewis Telethon. I would prepare my viewing area in the living room with a mountain of chocolate, wash rags and a bucket full of ice, and Hai Karate after-shave. My goal was to watch every minute and sometimes I'd make it. I saw the famous Dean Martin-Jerry Lewis reunion engineered by Frank Sinatra, for example. I'm not entirely sure why I did it. I was not the biggest Jerry Lewis fan in the house, that distinction belonged to one of my brothers. When a Jerry Lewis movie was on TV, we'd all watch this brother rather than the screen, because he would totally replicate every face and gesture Lewis made. It was funny until his wedding where, when he was asked if he took this woman to be his lawful-wedded wife, he screamed "Hey Lady...froinlaben..." I think I just liked the challenge of staying up all night. Okay, so I was not exactly David Blaine, but it was still a big deal for me.

Years later, I saw part of the telethon live when I lived in Las Vegas. I came away with enormous respect for Ed McMahon. He was on stage and working the entire time. Back then, I admired his good humor and his work ethic. Today, being older, I admire his bladder control. When I started working at KMBC, we carried the telethon so, occasionally, I did the middle of the night shift so the main hosts could get some rest. In fact, since being in broadcasting, there have been relatively few Labor Days, I haven't worked. Now, I know people with truly important jobs, as opposed to what I do, work lots of holidays...nurses, firefighters, police officers, doctors...so I am not complaining. However, this year by the luck of the draw, I happened to have Labor Day off.

In my head, I envisioned the following: sleep until 10:00 a.m. or so...put up the flag...have a huge, waffle-laden breakfast...walk the dog...read and doze a bit on the terrace by the pool while my wife and children made sure all my snack needs were met in a timely manner...then, end the day with a giant pan of home-made lasagne, accompanied by a stirring rendition of Look For The Union Label performed by my Von-Trapp-Like-Children. Well, that was the dream. The reality was a little different.

I woke up around 2:00 a.m. because my internal alarm clock is set for that hour. After making sure it was a day I had off...I went back to sleep until around 6:00 a.m. Then, I woke up with a face full of warm, soggy dog breath. There he was, my canine snooze alarm, smiling at me and ready to eat and take a walk. I told him to wait just a little bit longer. A few minutes later he was on the bed...paws on either side of me...staring directly into my eyes. Now, during the week, when I actually get up at 2:00 a.m., he barely stirs at all. But, on weekends or, apparently, holidays, he is ready to go no later than seven. I gave in. So much for sleeping until 10:00 a.m.

I did put the flag up, but we didn't have waffles. As for lounging pool-side, the problem there is we have no pool.

Instead, I ended up in the basement. Cleaning. With four kids, we have gone through a lot of toys and they end up in the basement. Whenever I've talked about giving some away, the ones I choose turn out to have a special meaning to one of the kids or, more often, my wife. I can show her a Happy Meal toy, circa 1991, and she can relate all the events of the day we got it. Including what we were all wearing. Her family will tell you that she has always had (or claims to have) amazing recall. For example, she insists the walls of the nursery in the hospital where she was born were lime green. In any case, this has led us to hold onto a lot of toys. More than once I've had to shoo that giraffe from Toys R Us out of our house because he was sure our basement was his warehouse. Well, lately my wife has decided she needs to get the basement into some semblance of order. She has decided to donate some toys, use others in her pre-school classes and keep only certain things. Her thinking behind keeping some launches us into the future. She wants to make sure she has a box of really cool, old toys for our grandchildren to play with. She is almost certain I will scare the grandchildren and feels she will need the toys in order to compete in the always present, rarely admitted "most popular grandmother" competition.

My job was to empty out the various tubs, boxes, bags, and drawers of stuff. Throwing away the obvious garbage, sorting things out, putting action figures in one pile, stuffed toys in another...which sounds easy until you come across a stuffed, green Power Ranger. It was only supposed to take a short while. Four hours later, I returned to the surface of the earth, fully intending to use the rest of day to read and relax. What I found was a kitchen in total disarray all because of a little comment I had made the day before.

In trying to get a little plastic container out of the cupboard, I had unleashed a torrent of pots, pans, empty ice cream tubs, old margarine holders, cans, jars and, I believe, a used Volvo. (If you are old enough to remember Fibber McGee's closet, you're on the right track. If you're not old enough to remember Fibber McGee's closet ask your parents or grandparents or great grandparents.) To this cacophonous annoyance I responded with a litany of comments along the lines of "My goodness. What a mess I have made. Heavens...I hope I did not disturb anyone. My word, what a bother." Well, it may not have exactly been those very words but I did make clear my irritation. That resulted in my wonderfully attentive wife deciding to straighten up that cupboard which led to the pantry which led to the refrigerator which led to the freezer which led back to the other cupboards which led to the kitchen drawers. The end result...eight garbage bags filled with junk...enough unopened ketchup to qualify us as relatives of John Kerry...half-used packets of spaghetti that, put end to end, would reach to the planet formerly known as Pluto and back...lots of new space...was great. Her technique makes it hard to help, though, as there seems to be no method to her madness. So, for the most part, I stood there...wanting a snack but afraid to enter the war-zone.

Well, we got a lot done around the house on Labor Day. I did read a little. I did walk the dog. I did put up the flag. As for the kids, they didn't sing to me but come Arbor Day, they promised to imitate an orange grove, just for me...and the dog.