I believe in a table set for all. The magic starts from anytime between five to seven in the evening. I hear the musical cling of each dinner plate being placed on top of our dining room table, not long after I hear my mom’s familiar old British voice call out, “sup’s up!” I hear her echo it a few more times, somehow my dad hears her call and he turns off jeopardy which is playing on an unnaturally loud volume. Some of us come in running, some of us come in lazily, it depends how hungry we are. My three brothers and I gather into our dinning room and take a seat waiting impatiently for each other. My dad sits at the head of the table and offers a prayer. He prays enthusiastically and adds in a clever remark that he’ll laugh at before ending with an “amen.” Then we eat.
Ever since I can remember this has been a tradition in my family. It’s something I truly treasure, having that special hour of the day where everyone comes together to be themselves and shares with one another about their day. Sometimes I get lucky and my mom concocts a five star meal, sometimes she experiments and the whole meal is complete garbage. Whatever the surprise may be, I know she puts so much heart and love behind it. And I feel it.
One of my favorite things about our dinner times is the crazy conversations that are created. My family is actually known for being potty mouths at the table; literally, poop and farting are common topics that come up. I treasure these moments the most, I believe that throughout all these years of silly dinners or silent, serious dinners, this time of the day always reminds me that I have and will always have a strong support of solid love that will be there to make fun of me, beat me up, embarrass the crap out of me, yet always lift me up, and want the best for me and be proud of me. From a table set for me and my future children, on to just me and my future spouse, to just me and God, my table will always be set for all.