n my memory, our
family dinners
were chaotic. As
one of four siblings with a 10-year age range from the oldest (me) to youngest (my youngest sister) with another brother and sister in the middle, the daily ritual was less about food and more about trying to thread the needle of our impossibly complicated schedules, my father traveled a lot for work, my mom taught
at the elementary school. We
all had sports,
friends, and
activities.
So, the act of
nightly ‘gathering’ was fraught with challenges.
When my sisters were little, I remember that inevitably, no matter where I sat, I’d have milk spilled on me. One time, fed up with the frequent dousing, I picked up the remaining ¼ cup of liquid and dumped it on the head of the offending sibling before storming off to my room.
What did we eat? Other than birthday dinners and holidays, the latter of which was held with
great pomp and circumstance at the Dining Room table, complete with Fancy China and candlesticks, I remember meatloaf and casseroles and almost always pasta on Fridays because Dad didn’t typically have pasta on the road. We often had green salads we’d douse with Ranch, Thousand Island, or Western dressing. Side note: Do they make Western dressing anymore?
But more important than the food, it was our opportunity to
be together,
chaos or not,
even briefly,
and to check in. in. How was the spelling test? Who is the latest crush we can tease you about? What’s going on with friend drama?
Photo Credit Kevin Schmid
A Place at the Table
Family, Democracy, and Resilience
I
BY HEATHER REID