My Grandpa Jed used to say, “Don’t know what the world’s coming to. Young folks today don’t follow rules. Think they can do anything they want.” I always thought he was talking about us kids. Nope, come to find out he was actually talking about his kid. That rule breaker would be my Dad.
During those seven magical years my three brothers, The Sister, and I spent growing up at 110 Flamingo Street, our parents had rules for just about everything. They had rules about not picking on The Sister. And they had rules about making sure all rocks and animals were out of our pockets before pants were thrown in the dirty laundry hamper.
Silly, I know, but if we didn’t, Mom screamed. Not at us, just at finding the creatures we accidently left in our pockets.
There were rules about when we were to come back home after playing outside all day. We never forgot these rules; we just didn’t follow them most of the time. They even had rules about how we were to act in church. They called those God’s Rules, but we all knew where they really came from.
So what daily activity at our house had more rules surrounding it than any other? You’d think dinnertime would be simple: Mom put food on the table and we ate it.
Nope, around our house, eating was anything but simple. It always came with a tablecloth, formal place settings, two meats, three different vegetables, our choice of juice or sweet tea, and some kind of yummy homemade dessert. Topping it all off: a whole bunch of rules.
Mom’s number one rule about dinner was everyone had to sit down together. After all, it was the time during the day all of us could join together and be one big happy family. And her logic was that we had all day to get there. Then there was Dad’s number one rule: no arguments or fighting during dinner. Yes, you guessed it; this rule was broken most every night, and not just by us kids.
Get your elbows off the table. Dad broke this rule most every night. Being so tired from a 12-hour workday was the reason why he always had not one, but both elbows on the table. Sometimes he even fell asleep in mid-bite.
When The Boy was growing up, I set forth the same rule and was determined that it be followed. But I too have fallen asleep with my elbows on the table in mid-bite, but not for long. Whenever I did, The Boy called me out for it.
Don’t talk with your mouth full. Mouth full of food or not, if we did something wrong around the dinner table, like picking on The Sister, Dad would tell us to stop. I reminded Dad of the “not-talking-with-your-mouth-full” rule only once. Needless to say, it didn’t turn out well for me.
If we wanted food, we couldn’t just reach across the table for it. We had to ask. The asking started with a “please” and ended with a “thank you.” We couldn’t walk around eating food; we had to be seated. There was no eating anywhere else in the house but the dinner table. Dad said this was because of bugs. He thought bugs wouldn’t travel away from the kitchen if there were no food source.
“Don’t leave the table until you’re finished” was another rule. Don’t pick on your brother and certainly don’t pick your nose. Can’t eat food after it’s dropped on the floor. Don’t rake the fork across your teeth. Our parents had so many rules about dinner, it was a miracle we got to eat anything.
With the extremely busy lifestyle most families have, I thought the dinnertime I grew up with was a thing of the past, but I was wrong. The Wife and I had dinner over at The Boy’s house the other night.
A homemade meal was served on real plates with silverware, cups, napkins and sippy cups for the little ones. No arguments or fighting were allowed.
To my surprise, the older kids said “please” and “thank you,” when asking for food. They only got up to rinse their plates and put them in the dishwasher. They even asked if they could have permission to leave the table!
Dinner isn’t always home-cooked. On busy nights there’s only time for take-out, but it’s brought back home to the table where the same rules apply. Wow, Grandpa Jed would’ve been proud.
I was going to tell The Boy about Grandpa Jed and the many dinner rules I had to follow. I was going to tell him how proud I was that his girls used such good table manners during dinner, but he said he really didn’t have the time. He still had to get the girls off to bed, clean up, and then do homework. After working 12 hours, he was really tired. He even fell asleep while feeding the baby her bottle with his elbows on the arms of the chair.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
