At the Table

As a kid, you always see the Norman Rockwell image of the family who sits down to dinner at the table. You would imagine this family talks about their issues that occurred throughout the day. The kids about their scholastic and athletic issues, and the wife and husband about their housework and work days respectively. Of course this has a very 1950's reference to stereotyping, but the meaning of family was there. It gave the chance for the children to communicate with each other and with their parents on one even level. For older kids, it gave the chance for the parents hear how their lives were going. I guess it's an ideal sense of camaraderie within a family dynamic. In my world, our sit down dinner happened only once a year. Sadly, for a very long time, this occasion occurred at Thanksgiving. You may be shocked to hear that, but it's true.

From my infancy to about the age of eleven years old, I lived in Wall Township, New Jersey with my parents and my little sister Lenore. We lived in a small neighborhood called Camp Evans. It was a very quiet neighborhood for the most part. My father worked full-time, and my mother was a housewife. When I was a small child, my family sat for dinner at the table. Then all of a sudden, at eight years of age, that all changed. Rather than using the kitchen table, dinner was served in front of the color television set. Meals were served on a set of television trays made of acrylic and metal. I can actually remember the faux wood finish on the surface of the trays. I can't rightly remember the exact day it happened, but I can recall sitting with my shepherd's pie on my plate and asking, "Mommy, why don't we use the big table anymore?" I remember her looking at me strangely for a moment and then she answered me coolly, "Because Mommy thinks it's too much work." I never questioned it again really, not because of the sternness of the answer, but the absolute nature of it. My mother was never really the best homemaker in the world, but she did well with what she knew and I could accept that. The funny thing is that she would bake and cook, but sitting at the table was gone.

When we moved to Brick, New Jersey, the family dynamic changed again. My parents were both working, which meant my younger sister and I came home from school alone. My father worked later, so my mother and my sister would eat dinner with me at the dining room table in the evening. For the first time in our lives, we had a dining room table. In our other home, we only had an eat in kitchen. Dad would come home to eat later. It was nice to be able to have that dynamic back, though I wish Dad was there for some of it. My mother was never the best cook in the world and I can't help but giggle at some of her meal planning from back then. She made the meal in a bag thing before they perfected it honestly and, let me say this, it was not good. Most of her meals had some form of cheese or meat in them, and were not very healthy. Even with that going for it, I'm still glad that I had that time to communicate with her and my little sister. For what it was worth, it was very important for both Lenore and me.

Today, my husband and I really try to eat together as much as we can. He works very long hours and I go to school full-time. We do not have any children, but that time together gives us time to communicate with each other. Donald will tell me about his work day, and I will give him the lowdown on my academic progress. I think the best part is that I get to cook with my husband, which is even more of a bonding experience. Cooking together is a very interesting affair and we both take joy in trying new recipes or making old favorites. To this day, Donald and I love making Thanksgiving dinner for two reasons. One because it gets everyone around one table and two we get to create something that builds love and communication through family and friends. That's the little bit of Norman Rockwell I take with me once a year. Cooking and having dinner around the table at Thanksgiving lets me know that we are still a family even though we aren't always under one roof.