In college sometimes you're asked to write papers about things you feel like you have no idea about. In my case I was supposed to write about a food item and connect it with my life. Not only that but the food item was supposed to tell something about me and the essay wasn't supposed to be focused on the food item. WHAT??? It made no sense to me; I had no idea where to begin so I just started writing. I thought my paper was complete BS, but how would my English professor know if the stories I told were true or not. I took my essay into the writing lab to make sure it was ready to turn in and my tutor had me read it aloud. As I did something very strange happened. I choked up a little and I could feel a lump in my throat. All of a sudden I realized how true everything I wrote about was and how much I love my family. This one is for you mama!“The family. We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another’s desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together” (Emma Bombeck). Some families bond over relaxing hikes in the mountains or traveling together to far off lands. Not my family. We bond over Sunday dinner which consists of hot fluffy mashed potatoes, delicious savory brown gravy, and my mom’s specialty; lemon pepper roast.
Dinner, by no means is a peaceful event, but it is a time we get together to eat mashed potatoes and bond. We bring our obnoxious ways with us to the table, and this is the one place where we feed off each other’s energy and laugh at the insanity of it all. Ang asks Brett to pass the potatoes and he takes it very literal. Mashed potatoes get clumped on my mom’s newly washed walls; she just sighs and says “you’re cleaning it up.” My question is who invented etiquette rules anyway? Did they really think it wise to use the football term “pass” to describe the motion of the food? I think it would be more proper to say “please deliver the potatoes to my place setting.” They really didn’t think that rule through, or they just didn’t have kids. Not to mention, the proper way to set a table includes several sets of utensils, which is just an invitation for kids to poke, stab, and prod the unfortunate person next to them. But that’s not all. Why use a napkin when you have a perfectly good table cloth right underneath your plate that is serving no specific purpose. Mom tries to explain that it is gross and bad manners to use the table cloth as a napkin, which gets us started on the topic of going green. Brett explains to her that he’s just trying to save mother earth; he’s willing to give up insignificant things such as napkins. Not only is he saving trees and preserving oxygen, but he’s also saving space in the landfills which is making someone somewhere very happy. Dinner topics consist of various debates such as that.
You never want to be the one to finish off the gravy because it gives you an automatic shun for the night. If we watch a movie, you’ll be the one pushed on the floor because there isn’t ‘enough room’ for you on the comfy couch. Rock paper scissors is a must to determine who gets that last piece of roast beef. If we ever had a houseguest over, which my mother would never allow with our behavior, they would think that we were going to go without food for the next week. All of the kids turn into professional taste testers at the dinner table and if mom gets the wrong ratios in the gravy, she’ll hear about it for the next three hours. We can always tell when there isn’t as much air in the potatoes as normal. If she uses a different brand of lemon pepper seasoning we know just by the smell of it. Sometimes my mom tries to change it up to add some variety, but it throws off the whole equilibrium of the home. For example if mom prepares a vegetable other than the regular super sweet white corn, everyone feels disappointed and let down. Often times I don’t know how to eat my mashed potatoes and gravy without the corn sprinkled on top. When she doesn't prepare the corn as normal, someone has to go down stairs to get some out of the freezer and then we all huddle around the microwave as it cooks. The moment the microwave beeps that wonderful sound it’s a fight to the death over who gets to dish up their corn first. By the time your plate is garnished with all the tasty flavors and textures your food is cold, again causing an upset. Rule of thumb; variety is a horrific thing. Everyone loves the traditional Sunday dinner just the way it is.
Yes, I know it sounds like a crazy time, but we also have some really touching moments during these dinners. We tell each other what’s going on in our lives, our successes and failures. We get to know each other over this special meal. Now that three of the kids have moved out, Sunday dinners are even more special to us because we aren’t able to be together every week. Ryan lives nearby and he comes home every Sunday; nothing can keep him away from good old family time and a delicious homemade dinner. My sister lives in Chicago so when she comes home for the holidays we really relish in the moment and enjoy our time together. Now that I am a college student and suffer from malnutrition, these dinners mean a great deal to me when I go home. My mom loves cooking for us and bringing the whole gang together. We are all very busy with our lives but we know that no matter where life takes us we can always go home to a heartwarming meal and hilarious dinner conversation. Sometimes the only way my mom can get us all together is to bribe us with this wonderful dreamy meal. It works every time. No one can resist it. I remember the first time my sister came home from college my mom prepared this meal on a weekday and we all gathered together to enjoy it together. People postponed their plans so this event could take place. This meal doesn’t just fill our tummies, it fills our hearts too. It helps us to step back and realize we do have something in common. We make each other laugh, although we have different senses of humor, we find that they complement each other very nicely. Witty banter flies across the table leaving warmth in the air. An eruption of laughter and joy always comes after one of Brett’s serious comments followed by a lighthearted remark from me. This dinner brings us together and despite our imperfections, we bond and we love each other very much. I wouldn’t change my crazy family for the world and I have Sunday dinners and my mom to thank for our strong bond.
Looking back on my life and the hundreds of family dinners I’ve been to, I realize that life lessons weren’t just confined to the table. Before I came to school, my mom taught me how to make her famous mashed potatoes. I learned how to whip them to peak perfection and exactly how much salt is required to bring out all the flavors. Sunday just wouldn’t be Sunday without homemade “real” potatoes, as we call them. But, in order to make them correctly the recipe calls for milk, cream, and butter; luxuries I don’t have as a college student. My mother, being as amazing as she is, gave me “fake” potatoes as a substitute. I made them for my Sunday dinner my second week of being on my own and until that moment I’d never tasted something so atrocious in my entire life. Instant potatoes are a shame to the whole potato family. It’s a complete embarrassment to take something so perfect and pure and taint it with that repulsive after taste and poor quality. Sure, making mashed potatoes takes a while. You have to peel the potatoes, boil them, add ingredients, and then mash them, but they blow that instant nonsense out of the water. My mom has always told me that things that take time are of greater value than things that require little effort, turns out she was right.
Now that I spend Sunday’s away from my family I have a lot of time for reflection. I think about how those meals changed my life. My brothers and sister became my best friends through those dinners. It was because of those bonds that I feel safe turning to my family in times of trials. They give me lots of good advice and when I don’t take it they loved me through my misjudgments and mistakes. I learned the real meaning of patience and love. Patience is more than refraining from yelling in someone’s ear to pass the salt when it takes more than 5 seconds to get to you, it is true acceptance of their differences. In fact, it is embracing those differences. Now that I am gone I miss all the annoying things my family used to do. They sure are different, but it’s because of their weird quirks that I enjoyed being with them. I appreciate these bonds now more than ever. I also realize how much my mom did for us and how exhausted we must have made her. She knew that even though it was very difficult to get everyone in the same room, it was important to have this time together. I’ve learned great life lessons and I have my mom and mashed potatoes to thank for that.
No comments:
Post a Comment