On rare occasions, we could eat our dinner in front of the television. Movie nights with brothers or the Super Bowl are a couple of rare treats that come to my mind.
Most often, we gathered around some version of a hand-me-down table. The wood had a lot of character. The grains of the wood held thousands of stories, confessions, heartbreaks, and meals shared as a family.
Most nights, there were five of us gathered around that table. My father, my mother, and two brothers settled into our assigned seats; assignments that went unspoken, but deeply understood. Sitting there, we were five people with unique lives. Sitting there, we were people being shaped by outside forces. School, work, and daily life were leaving scars, bruises, bumps, and muscles demanding of our attention. Around the dinner table, our collective trauma and triumph would reveal itself.
We occasionally added extra chairs and a table leaf. Those who joined us were all treated the same. Extended family or dear friends, it made no difference. In a moment of reflection, I now realize our dinner table was my first brush with equality.
Around that dinner table, we laughed and cried as a family. We made big announcements and confessions. There I learned my mom was going back to school hoping to become a nurse, and there I confessed to an accident at Sonic on my 16th birthday. But you should know we laughed more than we cried, occasionally through the tears.
Around that dinner table, we felt both rich and poor. Every steak dinner felt like a meal fit for a king, and every bean soup served as a reminder that the word economy was not some esoteric thing. It was real, and it could sting in unimaginable ways.
There are days spent around that dinner table I will never forget. I will never forget being celebrated for good grades and the persistent push to do better. I will never forget my Granny Box joining us for dinner and how we three boys would just melt in her hands. My older sister and brother joining us for dinner upset the established order, but was always a welcome surprise. I will never forget Thanksgiving with the entire family; never has so many people joined in fellowship under one tiny roof.
I will never forget gathering around that dinner table as we processed the death of my youngest brother. There were no answers to be found in the wood, but the unthinkable became bearable. Pushed away from the table, the world began to unravel and make less sense.
I will never forget the endless mountains of food delivered by friends and family in the wake of such a senseless tragedy. Around that dinner table, we felt an entire community wrap their wings around us with a simple wish that healing might begin.
Over 39 years, I have sat at countless tables. Surrounded by friends, I have laughed long into the evening. I have cried over cocktails, wishing I could see a dear friend one more time. And I have become fast friends with complete strangers.
I can find much of what I love about life around a dinner table. I crave these spaces with every fiber of my being. I long to create these shared spaces where community springs eternal. I have fallen deeply in love, been supported by my family, and made the best of friends around the dinner table.
My life has been changed for the better because of the dinner table.
Be good to each other,
Nathan