Dinnertime

I enjoy our dining room table–not so much for the design or size of it, but because of what happens at it.

Mealtime is the grout that holds our family together. We share stories, experiences, and events while we eat a meal. Littles tell of the new friend they made at the park. Children tell what happened at school, which kid ate a jar of glue, or the friend that gave them a unicorn pencil. Teens, tell of injustices they see or experience, a new favorite book that they read for the first time, or a service project they participated in.

Sometimes a child sits in a sullen stupor. Parents are just glad to be sitting still, and hope no one complains about the food or spills anything for the duration of the meal.

When we sit down together at the table with our family, we are telling them that they matter. We want to know about them: what they care about, what they are interested in. While we eat, our family goes around the table and has everyone give three highlights and one lowlight from their day. We have found it to be a wonderful vehicle for starting conversations and helping children to think about things they are grateful for.

Sometimes the answer is low hanging fruit like “I got to spend time with you!” Sometimes the answer is that the cancer treatments are over, or a cast will be off next week, or a catastrophic break up with a first love just took place. Sometimes there is nothing to be said in response, only that that person is sitting with people who love and support them. Why else would we make the effort to be with them at meal time? Sometimes a wise sibling may offer advice, and as a parent you stand amazed at insights or observations shared by your own young people.

Proverbs 22:6 says “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.”

I grew up in the ‘50s and ‘60s. My mom set dinner on the formica and chrome table every night at 6. I could rely on that. Our mom thought her family was important enough to cook for each evening. She may not have wanted to do that every day, but those meals spoke of commitment and nurturing.

My dad was quite the storyteller, and could make pouring a glass of water sound riveting, or even hilarious. We loved to hear dad tell a tale over pot roast on a cold winter night. He sang short saucy songs, recited limericks, and painted pictures with his words.

My parents told stories about how they grew up in Maine during the depression, and World War II. They talked of their own parent’s careers and interests. Generations and 4,500 miles were bridged by stories at suppertime.

Over a meal I recall Dad telling us about the bank teller who gave him $400 too much. The nine-year-old me instantly had images of a new horse in my back yard. Then he explained that he took the money back to the bank as soon as he realized she gave him too much. I asked him why.

“Paula, we don’t get to keep that money. It isn’t ours. If I were to keep it, that teller could lose her job”. Poof. My black stallion was gone, replaced by admiration for my Dad’s honesty. Do not steal.

I recall Dad sitting at the table on Sunday afternoons, writing a letter to his mum, and enclosing money. I don’t recall how much money he sent her, only him pulling his wallet out, thumbing through the bills, and then placing the money in an envelope every week. Honor your parents.

My own children learned to pray around the table. Over the food, and for each other. Now they choose to linger, to listen to each other, exchange ideas about politics, religion, values, education, and someone is always the devil’s advocate. It can be spirited, but always fun.

I worry that the power of the family dinner table may have diminished in this fast- paced era. In my mind’s eye I see the dining room table with a family gathered around it, facing each other, leaning in. Young people, teens, parents, grandparents. They are talking, teasing, and sharing. Then one of those teens is given a phone. That child slowly turns away from the table, their back to their community, their safety. The head is down, bowed, shoulders slumped while texting, standing up and moving away from the family, engrossed in what other children outside their own home are doing. Comparing themselves, feeling less than. Children raising children. Other children establishing a value system for that child.

Is that what we want for our children?

Sharing meals serves to anchor our families in these turbulent times. It is the designated time we teach them, when we show them what is and isn’t important. They learn how to shake off hard experiences, they feel unconditional love and acceptance. They experience the joy of connection.

The grand design is not of the table itself, but the people around it. Our families. It's about time, and a little bit of faith. If you haven't already, I hope you begin the journey with a meal around your dinner table tonight.