The Family Table

I was reading Reader's Digest's feature "Around the World with One Question" in the May edition. The question? How often do you eat a meal with your family? At first, I was shocked at the results of the poll (although they didn't ask me, so I'm not sure where their information comes from) that the US lags behind 14 other countries in that only 35% of Americans have family meals more than five times a week. Whaaat??? Unthinkable! HOWEVER, when you think about it, that's not so bad. I think most working/school-going families don't eat breakfast together. They just grab and go. And lunch takes place at school or the workplace. That leaves supper. If the poll says only 35% of Americans eat family meals MORE than five times a week, that means that the other 65% could eat together UP TO five times a week (my guess, on the week nights) which only leaves the weekends for families to scatter to other activities. Kids have activities. Parents have activities. There are lawns to mow and games to attend. Church. Proms. Actually, if Americans eat together at least five times a week, I consider that okay! I was, of course, raised in a generation apart from now. My parents were part of Tom Brokaw's "Greatest Generation"--children of the Depression, and young adults during World War II and the Korean Conflict. They had a generational fault: they wanted more for their children than what they had. I was one of those children. We weren't spoiled, but we were rebellious of our parents' ideals. (I regret that now.) In any case, dinner in our family was sacred. Dinner happened when Dad got home. Period. You'd better not be late! There were many times that I longed for the more casual situation that Americans have now. One time...ONE TIME...my father came home really late for supper. At the time, he was teaching and coaching, and she got tired of saving dinner for him, suspecting that he was with his drinking buddies instead of coming home. She fed us...then him, when he finally arrived. I sat at the table with him and her while he was eating when he declared that was the LAST time he would work his ass off to come home to a cold supper! What was shocking about that was that I had never heard my father speak harshly to my mother, and had never, ever heard him use the word "ass" in any context. She got the message. Every meal thereafter waited for his arrival. There was also a kind of prejudice about meals. With the advent of the frozen "TV dinners", my mother would skoff that they were NOT acceptable for the breadwinner of the family. Hamburger Helper wasn't heard of in those days, and we ate a lot of things that weren't defined. "That's beef; you eat it!" The rule was that you had to taste everything, but didn't have to have huge helpings...but if you took more, you had to eat it all. (Wasting food in many families that came out of the Great Depression was close to a sin.) And, of course, there was always the admonition that children in China were starving and could survive on what we were throwing away. (That really did happen!) When I became a married lady, I followed in my parents' example. I planned meals every night. Since I had married the Biggest Carnivore of the Western World, it got frustrating. I would shop for meat for a week--some pork, some chicken, some steak--whatever...and my husband would come home late from some evening school event and decide to cook himself a "snack". The snack would consist of some pork, some chicken, and some steak--leaving not enough of each to have a complete family meal for the rest of the week. Ugh! Megan and I used to cherish the times that he was gone for a day or two because we could just have what we wanted, informally. In time, we established a "Fend for Yourself" night. I think it was Tuesdays. (Not sure why.) I would fix for Megan and me. Joe would/could cook or take advantage of leftovers. That one night meant FREEDOM for me! When Joe and I split up, Meg and I were a family alone. Megan was only in middle school, but my best friend, Phyllis, reminded me that we were still a family, even if Joe wasn't there. I made it a point to have a supper together. It wasn't great--usually just a meat, a vegetable, and a starch...but it was our time to connect. We finally had the informality that we once craved, but we still needed the time to talk about our days. Eventually, she got busy with musical rehearsals and show choir rehearsals and boyfriends and stuff...and if, somehow, we didn't manage to have a meal together, she would find a way to have our dinner conversation anyway! When my daughter and grandchildren moved in with me (surprise!), I made sure that the children had breakfast and made their lunches. It would have been nice to have help with supper, since I was still teaching then, but Meg generally didn't get home from her job until almost 6:00. It was MY decision to have dinner on the table when she got home so we could have that family time before the evening's activities. Soccer, Girl Scouts, school events, homework, baths, bedtime. Supper time was the most together time she/they/we had. I still believe in the family table. It is as much a part of my life as bedtime. The problem is that there is no family here now! I eat when I feel like it...and that's not a good thing. I am already planning family meals for when the grandchildren are here over Easter weekend. Sitting down at the table together gives us a chance to connect. God provides!!