Growing up I took dinner for granted.
I assumed all families were like our family. I assumed every mom prepared a complete dinner with vegetable, meat, salad and starch at a table set with full place settings and seasonally selected decor. I assumed every dad made it home for dinner. And I assumed all families had assigned prayer nights.
By the time we were teenagers juggling multiple extracurricular activities apiece and still eating a homemade dinner together each night I began to realize we had something special.
Some meals were favorites. Mom maintained an elaborate system to ensure equal opportunity for each child to have the ends on meatloaf nights.
On birthdays each of us got to set the menu. After several years of the middle requesting Brussels sprouts as his vegetable—and Mom crowing that at least one of her children loved Brussels sprouts—the eldest and I finally broke it to her. He didn’t like them. He certainly didn’t love them. He requested them because he knew we didn’t like them. She was astounded.
Our family has changed shape and spread farther, but when we’re together, there’s nothing quite like a meal around the table. Even if it includes Brussels sprouts.
This post is part of the 31 Days: Family series. Read the beginning, and see a full index of posts, here.