We always celebrated Christmas dinner at a grandparent’s home. If we were at Dad’s home place, we could all sit around his mother’s grand dining room table, for it would seat a dozen people. At Mom’s parents, however, the big table only sat eight. The children ate at a card table by themselves.
To graduate to the larger table, one had to be able to sit in the chair and reach their food without assistance. In my first venture beyond the children’s table, the excitement of an early Christmas morning, opening presents, and a late lunch approaching my nap time all intersected. My aunt swore to her dying day I fell asleep in my dinner plate with my turkey leg in my fist. It doesn’t matter, faces clean as easily as dishes will. A little water, a bit of soap, rubadubdub…
Eating at the grown up table also meant leaving behind childish conversations and engaging in adult talk. Early on, I learned by listening and asking questions. Sometimes this kept the conversation going, and other times I got the shutdown phrase, “We’ll talk about this at a later time.” I knew that was code for “never.”
Learning how to talk and carry on a conversation over dinner may be a dying art, but if it is an art, then it can be practiced until one has some skills in it. Otherwise, we might be all “going to the dogs!”
I hope everyone’s holidays are filled with JOY AND PEACE,
From my kitchen to yours, Cornie.