Family Dinner

It was dinner time. And we had a guest. Cousin Sarah was staying with us while she attended a work conference nearby.

I decided to try out a new meal – I took chicken breasts and made slits in them and then jammed some colourful veggies into said slits. Veggies like strips of bell pepper, zucchini rounds and wedges of purple onion. And I must admit, the chicken looked spectacular before it went into the oven – and scrumptious on the way out.

But in the end, it really was nothing more than a big, bland mess. Dinner was a bust.

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As I was cleaning up with Sarah’s help, she said: “You know – that was a really nice dinner.”

I did a double take. I figured she was teasing me – as we had all agreed – it really wasn’t. I gave her a look.

“No. That’s not what I mean. I mean the way everyone talked and joked – that was really nice. Are your dinners always like that? Because that is so good for your family.”

Did I mention that Cousin Sarah happens to be a social worker? I am always turning to her for advice and picking her brain on a variety of parenting issues that arise here and there.

For her to say this about our family dinner – it meant something. And – pardon the pun – but it provided me with some food for thought. Because I know you always hear about how important a family eating together is – but it’s not something I ever really gave much thought to before.

Our family dinners are pretty much all the same. They are 25 minutes of stuffing food into our mouths while two gang up on one, then one will turn the tables and gang up on the ganging-up duo. Then someone will burp and a chorus of “Ewwwwwww”s will arise before a kid attempts a copy-cat fake burp. Then someone will yell (probably me). Then someone will break the utensil-clanging silence by telling us about an annoying kid in their class, then another will inform us that calling someone “annoying” is a form of bullying. 

There is always teasing and laughing and guaranteed bickering. On a few rare occasions there are arguments – of the serious variety – where someone ends up in tears and/or storms away from the table with the distant sound of a bedroom door being slammed. 

There is sometimes – though not often – a lecture – focussing on poor table manners, bad behaviour, rudeness, stubbornness and the like. These can turn south in an instant and result in stony silence pierced only by forks hitting plates.

But most of the time, our dinnertime conversation involves joking and teasing – with a few dirty looks and even a kick under the table; there are funny stories told and sometimes sad and upsetting stories told; there is always a smidge of whining and complaining.

Little did I realize that this is what is so good about it. The food can be gobbled up or pushed to the side of the plate or spit out or passed surreptitiously under the table to the dog. That is of little consequence. It’s the rest of it that counts.

My life, my husband’s life, our kids’ lives – are busy and hectic – and oftentimes much more scheduled than I would prefer. My son has a strict hockey schedule, my husband sometimes works late, my one daughter has a part-time job, my other daughter is the neighbourhood babysitter and both girls are involved in their respective extra-curricular activities.

This makes it impossible for us all to sit down together at the same time for dinner every single night. But when we can, we do. And it happens to be more often than not.

Cousin Sarah’s comment prompted me to give family dinners much more thought than I ever have before. This brief interlude of run-of-the-mill and unplanned family togetherness may be the most beneficial thing we do together all day. It provides us all (me included) with a sense of belonging and importance. 

I have come to realize that us five are truly connected and a part of something unique to just us. And it won’t always be like this.

One day, in the not-too-distant future – “us five” will be a thing of the past. It’ll be something I think about from time-to-time – with a touch of sadness, I’m sure.

But as for the here-and-now, it’s nice to know that without even really trying, with the most minimal effort whatsoever – and really only because it was the way I was raised – we eat dinner together when we can.

And apparently we’re doing good.

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