January 25, 2019: Invite to Dinner

What can I say about dinner?  Well, on Sundays, my Dad cooked dinner.  For most of my childhood, Dad would fix chicken and mashed potatoes for Sunday dinner.  The day usually started frantic.  Dad would get up, get ready for Mass, and go sit in the car and honk the horn while Mom struggled to get 6 kids dressed, brushed, and hatted.  Back then all women and girls had to wear hats to Mass, and we fought over who got to wear which hat, all of us preferring the little round lace things called chapel caps.   There were also chapel veils, which were triangular, also made of lace, they came in black or white.  Sometimes we were reduced to folding up a tissue and bobby pinning it to our hair. Mom always had a proper hat.  After Mass, we would wait impatiently in the car, while Dad conversed with his friends on the church steps.  Mom did not honk the horn.  When we got home and changed from church clothes to regular clothes, Dad would start dinner.  Chicken, always chicken.  We would all sit down to dinner together, say the blessing and dig in. Dad always ate the back.  He appeared to like it, but maybe he just ate it to leave more of the good stuff for the rest of us.  My brother Jim liked the leg.  We always finished it off, no left overs.  Like at every meal, if there was a piece left, Dad would say “If nobody is going to eat that, I will.  I don’t want it to go to waste.”  There wasn’t much waste in our house.  Leftovers were eaten later, or the next day.  In pre-microwave days, we all took cold lunches so most leftovers were consumed at home where we could warm them up. 

Sometimes we would converge at Grandma’s house.  Most of the Aunts and Uncles on my Mom’s side lived nearby, and after church we would gather and have a meal.  I don’t remember what was served, who prepared it, and who paid for it.  I am sure we didn’t all eat Grandma’s food without pitching in. I guess I was too busy playing with my many cousins to pay attention.  I don’t even remember where we all sat…. we were a huge bunch. 

My favorite meal story happened when my daughter Lena was about 6 years old.  She saw a pork loin setting on the counter, got all huffy and said. “I don’t care what you do.  I am not eating lion!”

And of course, the kids always talk about the day I gave their dinners to the cat.   They always fought about food portions, I don’t know why, it was just their thing.  One day they were arguing over how many chicken nuggets they each had.  I was frustrated with the fighting, it isn’t like either one of them ever went hungry. I scooped up both the plates and marched them to the front porch and scraped them into the cat bowl.  Later the little neighbor girl came over, and she looked at those nuggets with such longing that I felt bad.  My kids had so much compared to her…. That Christmas Eve I snuck over after dark and left presents for her and her family.  I think the Mom knew it was me, but I never admitted to it. 

And the kids always talk about how messy Lena was.  I had a spaghetti stain on the dining room ceiling. Don’t know how it got there, but it came from Lena. 

Well…. I just realized I was working off the 2018 list of themes.