I started this post last night right after getting up from the dinner table. A particularly full dinner table, with 8 chairs crammed around it.
We've always been a family of 6, and we've always been an infamously spirited family of 6. Tonight we were discussing the possibilities of a superpower that would allow us to switch off gravity in a predefined period of time within a certain area. Then Maria said, "People who have more birthdays live longer." And while we were all chuckling about that, Papa chimed in, "And odds are, if your parents couldn't have kids then you won't be able to either."
And then Mutti said, "...Didn't we have this same conversation a few days ago?"
On other nights we talk about linguistics, or architecture, or theology, or medicine. Or we talk about books we're reading and movies we've seen or want to see. We try to make plans and usually fail because of how impossible it is to coordinate 6 busy schedules full of life and ambition. We tell funny stories and bad jokes. We work through our issues, personal or collective. As cliche as it may sound, the dinner table is the place where our family status gets resolidified. Sitting down to eat, and, more importantly, to laugh together, does the same thing for our family as renewing vows does for married couples. It's like checking our vitals, syncing our personal devices to the familial network.
Sometimes other people join us at the table and we realize how completely strange our dinner table conversations are, and how intense we can be to people who don't yet know the ropes.
Case in point, my sister's boyfriend got an essay published in Teen Ink about meeting the family, his first supper at our house. He talks about feeling justifiably intimidated as we all haphazardly gathered around the table (typical) and then how that anxiety melted away as he realized we were just real, raucous people. Now he verbally spars with the best of us, rises to the occasion.
Another friend of my sister's was lucky enough to be present at a family dinner where the conversation somehow got steered to the logistics of a career in pole dancing, with side stories about the time my dad had to guess a Sensosketch (drawing with your eyes closed) of a "string bikini" at a youth group game night. (He didn't guess it.) Our visitor sat at the head of the table looking mildly shell-shocked, but laughing; and on the way home he mentioned, with typical quiet intellectualism, that we are "interesting" people -- but in a good way.
Friday was J's birthday, so on Saturday I went to have family dinner at his house. I was struck, as a relative outsider, by the warmth of the family table, the passing and sharing of food and, again, laughter. I don't think this is mere coincidence. That kind of intentional time spent together, gathered in a place, facing each other, is an opportunity for care, to nourish not only our bodies but our souls.
My family has been known to sit literally for hours after all of us are full, after all the food is gone and all the plates are clean and the clock strikes whatever ungodly hour. (We have also been known, on more than one occasion, to sit down to eat after 10:00 pm, so I guess the "after dark" thing isn't really a surprise.) Despite all the ruckus lately about headlines reading, STUDIES DEBUNK "FAMILY DINNER" MYTH: CHILDREN WHO EAT DINNER WITH THEIR FAMILIES STILL GET ADDICTED TO DRUGS! ...I still think that our family is a functional one because we eat together.
Because we enjoy our food together. We share our gratefulness that there is something on the table, and that it is usually delicious, and that we have people we love to share it with. I really think it boils down to the fact that we laugh together. And my sisters have mentioned on multiple occasions that the dinner table is where we hash things out. That's where we make plans, and work through issues, and take votes on major family decisions, like when and where to go on vacation, or whether it's time to move. It's the only time and place we all set aside (at least one or two nights a week, now that we're all older and busier) to be present with each other. When we were little dinnertime was the only time we didn't answer the phone, on principle. Our family has committed, for 25 years, to being with each other as we share the gifts we have been given.
And what I like about this now is that we have spent a long time building up our family dinner foundation, so that now we gladly invite others to join us, to be grateful with us, to enjoy food with us, to laugh with us. They bring new jokes and facts and topics of interest and even new tastes to the spread.
We are all infinitely richer for it.
We've always been a family of 6, and we've always been an infamously spirited family of 6. Tonight we were discussing the possibilities of a superpower that would allow us to switch off gravity in a predefined period of time within a certain area. Then Maria said, "People who have more birthdays live longer." And while we were all chuckling about that, Papa chimed in, "And odds are, if your parents couldn't have kids then you won't be able to either."
And then Mutti said, "...Didn't we have this same conversation a few days ago?"
On other nights we talk about linguistics, or architecture, or theology, or medicine. Or we talk about books we're reading and movies we've seen or want to see. We try to make plans and usually fail because of how impossible it is to coordinate 6 busy schedules full of life and ambition. We tell funny stories and bad jokes. We work through our issues, personal or collective. As cliche as it may sound, the dinner table is the place where our family status gets resolidified. Sitting down to eat, and, more importantly, to laugh together, does the same thing for our family as renewing vows does for married couples. It's like checking our vitals, syncing our personal devices to the familial network.
Sometimes other people join us at the table and we realize how completely strange our dinner table conversations are, and how intense we can be to people who don't yet know the ropes.
Case in point, my sister's boyfriend got an essay published in Teen Ink about meeting the family, his first supper at our house. He talks about feeling justifiably intimidated as we all haphazardly gathered around the table (typical) and then how that anxiety melted away as he realized we were just real, raucous people. Now he verbally spars with the best of us, rises to the occasion.
Another friend of my sister's was lucky enough to be present at a family dinner where the conversation somehow got steered to the logistics of a career in pole dancing, with side stories about the time my dad had to guess a Sensosketch (drawing with your eyes closed) of a "string bikini" at a youth group game night. (He didn't guess it.) Our visitor sat at the head of the table looking mildly shell-shocked, but laughing; and on the way home he mentioned, with typical quiet intellectualism, that we are "interesting" people -- but in a good way.
Friday was J's birthday, so on Saturday I went to have family dinner at his house. I was struck, as a relative outsider, by the warmth of the family table, the passing and sharing of food and, again, laughter. I don't think this is mere coincidence. That kind of intentional time spent together, gathered in a place, facing each other, is an opportunity for care, to nourish not only our bodies but our souls.
My family has been known to sit literally for hours after all of us are full, after all the food is gone and all the plates are clean and the clock strikes whatever ungodly hour. (We have also been known, on more than one occasion, to sit down to eat after 10:00 pm, so I guess the "after dark" thing isn't really a surprise.) Despite all the ruckus lately about headlines reading, STUDIES DEBUNK "FAMILY DINNER" MYTH: CHILDREN WHO EAT DINNER WITH THEIR FAMILIES STILL GET ADDICTED TO DRUGS! ...I still think that our family is a functional one because we eat together.
Because we enjoy our food together. We share our gratefulness that there is something on the table, and that it is usually delicious, and that we have people we love to share it with. I really think it boils down to the fact that we laugh together. And my sisters have mentioned on multiple occasions that the dinner table is where we hash things out. That's where we make plans, and work through issues, and take votes on major family decisions, like when and where to go on vacation, or whether it's time to move. It's the only time and place we all set aside (at least one or two nights a week, now that we're all older and busier) to be present with each other. When we were little dinnertime was the only time we didn't answer the phone, on principle. Our family has committed, for 25 years, to being with each other as we share the gifts we have been given.
And what I like about this now is that we have spent a long time building up our family dinner foundation, so that now we gladly invite others to join us, to be grateful with us, to enjoy food with us, to laugh with us. They bring new jokes and facts and topics of interest and even new tastes to the spread.
We are all infinitely richer for it.
Oh my, this is so heartwarming... I have tears in my eyes. I could write an entire blog post, in response, chronicling some of my most precious memories which took place around a dinner table. These days, so many miles away from my nuclear family, I desperately miss the ritual and tradition of giving thanks and dining together. Maybe that's why I LOVE going on dates so much... it's the only time phones get turned to "silent" and the company is just as intentional as the activity [eating]. Speaking of which... I'm off on a date!
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