In the late 1980's retired navy test pilot friend of mind told me that he was always taking some kind of class at the college in order to keep sharp. And, he was indeed sharp, so I began doing the same thing when I came to Arizona in 1990. I signed up for a composition class at Paradise Valley Community College, and the very first assignment was to write about the kitchen table. That's it, that's all the direction the teacher gave. Write about the kitchen table. So, here you go. True story, of course. Someplace I have the original, handwritten, with a big red A on it.
THE KITCHEN TABLE
When I was a young teenager I noticed that Dad was pretty hard on the boys that came to the door or called. If they came to the door at the wrong time he would growl at them, “Don’t you know this is supper time?” or, “What makes you think you can come here this time of night?” If they called during supper he frequently answered the phone, “Joe’s Pizza!” or, “Don’t ever call back here,” and hang up.
Being the youngest, I was not aware of this with my two elder sisters, but even though I was not particularly interested in boys at the time, I was quite aware regarding my sister, Susan, three years my senior. At sixteen years old, she was very much interested in boys and, though she was a girlie girl at the time, would even come outside to the yard to play soccer or softball, catch fireflies, or throw rocks up at the fruit bats to get them to dive, IF either of the two cute neighbor boys were playing with us.
I remember when she came to me one day - why me, I’ll never know, maybe because there was just we two kids left at home, certainly not because I had any insight - and asked what I thought about her asking Mom and Dad if it would be okay to have her friend from school, Ralph, over for supper.
“Well, you know Dad. He’s going to give Ralph a hard time.”
She was not deterred however and arranged with Mom to have Ralph over. I’m not sure Dad was let in on the plan, but he was in full character when Ralph arrived.
Mom was in the kitchen which was open to the family room and dining area. Dad was in the family room in his chair, reading the paper and smoking his pipe. When Susan introduced Ralph, Mom stepped forward, saying hello and warmly welcoming him. Dad rattled his paper and harrumphed.
Ralph, being a smart guy, went right to work engaging with Mom, making her laugh while making points at the same time. He even helped to place the serving dishes on the table, and Mom had gone all out for the occasion, making pan fried chicken, home made biscuits, mashed potatoes, gravy, and peas fresh from our backyard garden.
Now, being raised by parents from the depression and WWII era, there were certain ways of doing things at the table, whether breakfast lunch or supper. We all sat down together in our usual places. Mom and Dad at each end of the table respectively, I in my place on one side to Dad’s right. Where Susan generally sat across from me, now Ralph was in her spot on Dad’s left and she was seated on my right, between Mom and I. So, Ralph was abandoned, left to his own devices on the far side of the table. Our napkin and hands went in our in our lap while the food was blessed, then passed to the left from where each bowl sat on the table.
During this time, Dad never spoke to or acknowledged Ralph in any way, not looking at him when passing the serving dishes.
Me? I am enjoying every minute of this. I knew my Dad’s sense of humor and had learned by personal experience and observation just who he was. His “tell” was the tiniest twitch of the side of his mouth. My long time friend, also Carla had his number, though it took her a few visits before she caught on. They would often go back and forth until she got him to laugh out loud. Now, I am on pins and needles, trying not to snicker. I knew that when whatever was going to happen finally happened, it was going to be really good.
The dinner conversation is mostly between Mom and Ralph, with an occasional grunt from Dad. As the serving dishes begin another turn around the table, Dad hands the bowl of peas to Ralph and Ralph reaches for the bowl at the same time turning his head to respond to something Mom has said. Dad thinks Ralph has his hands on the bowl and Ralph thinks Ralph has his hands on the bowl. Dad lets go of the bowl and it falls through Ralph’s hands smack onto the table where it splits in two pieces, peas rolling across the table and onto the floor.
Ralph’s face has gone white. Everyone is holding their breath. Finally, after what had to seem an eternity to Ralph, Dad looks him directly in the eye and says, “See how you are. We invite you over for dinner, and the first thing you do is pea all over the table.”
Susan later married Ralph and he and Dad became good friends. In fact, it became difficult to determine who was more mischievous and who initiated the mischief. Suffice it to say, we did not, could not, let them sit together at church.
By the way, Ralph is who taught me to play guitar.
The photo is myself and eldest daughter, Shannon, at Bardstown, KY, farmhouse where her dad grew up.