The Communion of Dining

One author observed that in close families, there were two factors in common: they were together at mealtimes and bed times. I grew up in a family of 9, where every single meal was taken around the family table, a structure my father built to accommodate his 7 children.

My memories of these meals were not particularly of the food, but of the gathering. Being active children who spent a lot of time outdoors in the fresh air, we had good appetites, and always responded eagerly to the dinner bell. This was mounted from the roof of the house. Mother hit it with a metal piece that came with the bell, to ring us all in from the country area that we lived. It was a way of saving her voice.

Mealtimes were one of the times that our boisterous family had some structure. We were not allowed to talk while eating. Our manners were watched carefully. We weren't to reach for food if it meant reaching across someone else. We had to ask, "Will you please pass the potatoes?" Then, the dish was passed from the nearest person, around the table to the one who asked. It was not allowed to be slid across the table.

At the onset of the meal, food was passed from our father and mother to the person next to them, and on around the table. We all helped ourselves, but we had to be mindful that others wanted to eat, too, and be careful not to take greedy helpings. Seconds were allowed, but we had a little ritual where we would ask, "Would anyone else like the last helping of this?" to make sure no one else wanted it.

As we grew older, more conversation was allowed, but nothing of a gory nature (no surgeries, descriptions of accidents, or other things that would be revolting while consuming food---no "organ recitals," as we call them now.) Our parents enjoyed us, but our lives were parent-focused rather than youth focused. The conversation would be guided by our parents until we could prove our ability to speak in an edifying way.

Meal times were actually so wonderful, that they were to us the same as going to a movie or a special event is today. They were the highlight of the day. Before we were allowed to be seated, some of us had to help set the table and put the food on. We were asked to be seated only when mother was ready, and not encouraged to sit and wait or get up to the table just because we saw it being set.

Often on the table was a centerpiece created from nature by one of the children. Mother liked the lilies from the lake, which she gathered when she rowed out in the little dory (a skiff, a small row boat) in the mornings. These were put in a shallow bowl of water, where their waxy beauty and scent enchanted us all for days. Other centerpieces were as imaginative as you can get: ferns and rocks with moss in a box, or sea shells in a bowl of sand. Flowers were always a favorite, consisiting of fireweed or forget-me-nots. Lacking nature's centerpieces, a bottle made of colored glass was a delight, especially if the light shone through it and created patterns on the table.

Our food was incredibly simple. It consisted of whatever came from the garden, and the taste was splendid: new potatoes, salads made with fresh lettuce and tomatoes, and strawberries for dessert. It was not so much the food that created a common communion for us, but the activity of sitting around the table together. I believe that this ritual can go a long ways to restoring the loyalty and harmony of the home today. Around their own family dining table, the members can be honest and open in expressing their values. The parents are free to teach their children the importance of good manners. Families do not always feel the freedom to express their own values and beliefs, when eating in public. Although eating out is a real treat, there is no place like home for creating the family communion of dining.