Blog Action Day – My Kitchen Table

Every night my family sits at the table for dinner. It is a well loved table we bought from an antiques dealer at the flea market. We have distressed black chairs that we found at the flea market at a different stand. I love that the table and chairs are not matchy-matchy. The chairs are aged and distressed black with spindle legs. The table is a dark chocolate with black legs. The table top is sturdy, solid wood that isn’t too grainy.  The table bears the marks of family life. Streaks of Sharpie from decorating mini pumpkins, indentations of practiced cursive that show a pen gripped too tightly by eight-year old hands, scribbles of pen slipped off the page from birthday thank you notes, scratches left by Playdoh tools, and water marks from spilled milk that wasn’t worth crying over.

Our family table is where homework gets done, blog posts are written, Easter eggs are dyed, board games are played, and most importantly, where meals are shared. These four distressed black chairs see more action than any other piece of furniture we own. We have some more mismatched chairs to add to the sides when friends come over. There is always room at our table.

We sit at the table every single night. There is no television. There are no iPhones or gadgets. And while I have your attention, let me add that there are no gadgets when we go to restaurants either. I strongly believe that children need to learn to sit patiently while waiting for a meal to be served at a restaurant. This is a prime time to simply converse. Children do not need to be entertained, and how on earth will these children grow up to know how to behave at a restaurant as adults if all they learn is to stare at a screen of flashing lights? Sorry for the soapbox interlude. Back to the regularly scheduled blog post…

Our dinner table is a place that memories are made. It sits quite literally smack in the middle of the room. The kitchen is to the right, open to the family room with a breakfast bar separating the cooktop from the table. This set up is ideal for me to make dinner while Bird and Deal work on homework or just sit and color and chat while I cook. Sometimes I pretend I am a Food Network star, and they humor me as my audience. On the other side of the kitchen table is the family room. The obnoxiously large TV swivels so we could easily be couch potatoes while eating roasted potatoes. However, the children have never asked for the television while we eat. It’s not that they wouldn’t love to have Phineas and Ferb join them for breakfast, but they know our answer would be a resounding no way.

We live in the South, where many people say grace before a meal. Not being religious people, we have given grace our own twist. Every night before we eat dinner we hold hands and say our “Thank Yous.” We each take a turn saying something we are thankful for from the day. Our only rule is that we are never thankful for things. Bird is often thankful for things like learning a new song in piano lessons or having time to throw the football with Mac Daddy. Deal is thankful for playing with a friend after school or visiting the Ligons, whom the boys love like family. Mac Daddy is thankful for squeezing in a game of basketball in the wee hours before work, and I am thankful for taking Lark for a long walk on a brisk day. We are thankful for simple things. We use this time to simply reflect on our day and choose one thing that made us smile. There are times throughout the day when the boys do something especially fun or see something that makes them giggle, and they make note to include this in their Thank Yous at dinner. This tradition gives us a springboard to discuss things from our day, knowing full well that questions like, “How was your day?” and “So what did you do today?” are answered with a shrug and a grunt.

When we reflect on our daily thank yous, we often talk about how fortunate we are. We have full bellies and a pantry full of food. We do not know what it is to be hungry. We have never tried to fall asleep to the rumble of a hungry stomach and aching heart. We have never worried about our next meal or had to ration a box of noodles. When I was a little girl and didn’t want to finish my dinner, my parents (who were raised in India) would tell me about the hungry children on the streets and in the slums of India. I would shove my plate away and say, “Well then, just mail them this food because I don’t want to eat it!” Wow, what a brat I was. Ungrateful to the Nth degree and no sense of perspective. I was a kid. I didn’t know the suffering of the world. That’s how it’s supposed to be. To an extent. There is a fine line between childhood innocence and spoiled brattiness. Mac Daddy and I have talked to Bird and Deal about what makes us fortunate and the responsibility we have to help others. We do so out of goodwill, not obligation.

My sons go to school everyday with children who are hungry and eat their only meals at the school cafeteria, leaving them with no food for the weekend. These are children who are not only hungry, they don’t enjoy the simple pleasures and comfort of sitting around the family table. I am thankful my family has a well loved kitchen table to share our hearty meals. I am thankful for the family time we enjoy at that table. I am thankful for the memories and stories that are engraved in each ding and dent. I am thankful for the security our table represents. I am thankful that my family’s meal times are about so much more than food.

 

This post is part of Blog Action Day 2011 (#BAD11). Bloggers around the world are writing about food today. Should you feel inspired to help the hungry, a cause dear to me, consider contributing to the Food Bank of Central & Eastern North Carolina or your local food bank. Donate cans of non-perishable food, donate money, donate your time.