Around the Dinner Table

On rare occasions, we could eat our dinner in front of the television. Movie nights with brothers or the Super Bowl are a couple of rare treats that come to my mind.

Most often, we gathered around some version of a hand-me-down table. The wood had a lot of character. The grains of the wood held thousands of stories, confessions, heartbreaks, and meals shared as a family.

Most nights, there were five of us gathered around that table. My father, my mother, and two brothers settled into our assigned seats; assignments that went unspoken, but deeply understood. Sitting there, we were five people with unique lives. Sitting there, we were people being shaped by outside forces. School, work, and daily life were leaving scars, bruises, bumps, and muscles demanding of our attention. Around the dinner table, our collective trauma and triumph would reveal itself.

We occasionally added extra chairs and a table leaf. Those who joined us were all treated the same. Extended family or dear friends, it made no difference. In a moment of reflection, I now realize our dinner table was my first brush with equality.

Around that dinner table, we laughed and cried as a family. We made big announcements and confessions. There I learned my mom was going back to school hoping to become a nurse, and there I confessed to an accident at Sonic on my 16th…