Ever since I can remember waking up on any given morning when the cold nips at your nose and feet, it was always hard to get the courage to brave getting out of my warm and comfortable bed. When I was younger I lived in Ohio, and Ohio had humidity that would cut through your very skin which made every cold morning an epic battle. Every sunday my family and I would go to church in the mornings. Sundays for what ever reason were always the hardest day in particular to wake up. Talking with others I’m not alone on this subject, there is just something about Sundays that you don’t want to leave the confinement of your cozy state. I feel that in the poem “Those Winter Sundays” it was the dad that was the one who had braved waking up and getting the house warm for his family. When the house was warm the Father would call for the rest of the family to come. In todays time we have heaters to warm our rooms rather than crackling fire. When I was younger and finally got the courage to get out of bed I would wait for the heater to turn on and feel the warmth of the heater take away the cold nipping on my nose and feet, and I would rise up and get ready for church Sunday mornings. The poem had just reminded me of those struggling sunday mornings and what it would mean for someone to care enough to wake up with the realization that This person worked hard all week but still get the house warm for the rest of the family.