Last week, while sitting down to the annual Thanksgiving feast with my family, I thought about something that hadn’t crossed my mind in the past several years.
Many readers may have memories, fond or otherwise, of sitting at the “kids table” during Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners.
The smaller table, sometimes a rarely used card table from the basement, where the family members under a certain age were segregated to at while the adults enjoyed dinner and pleasant conversation at the large table in the next room. One would be sitting next to that one weird cousin that only came around during those holiday dinners, all the while hoping they didn’t get sick from the other weird cousin who was coming down with something that would ruin a few days of the long-awaited winter break.
As crazy as this sounds, I kind of miss that sort of interaction. I remember the boisterous and sometimes chaotic fun I’d have sitting with the younger members of the family. Eating and goofing off until inevitably someone would come in and tell us to quiet down.
I remember my first Thanksgiving sitting at the so-called adults table. It was boring! My dad and my uncles spent the whole meal taking about work, which I suppose is what happens when a bunch of miners get together. My mom and aunts would talk about what kind of things they wanted to do with their homes and what they’d do when they redecorate individual rooms.
It was a different experience, that’s for sure. I remember being asked about school and replying with a blanket “it’s OK” response, despite the fact that much of my time in public school was spent doing little, if any, of the homework I was assigned. The topics of discussion really didn’t appeal to me. A 13-year-old has no idea what someone’s talking about when they’re chatting about blading a ramp for a dragline and has little interest in the benefits of country-style decor as opposed to a more contemporary style.
I sucked it up, while secretly missing my companions in the other room. It was one of those “passages into adulthood” that a teen revels in. It also showed how absolutely dull the adult conversations can be.
Here’s to the days of kicking one another under the table, of talking about that gnarly bike jump behind the house that busted the frame of my Huffy and that eternal debate of if Mario the jumping plumber is better than Sonic the Hedgehog. Those years have long past, but have been a fun mental diversion between servings of turkey and stuffing.
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