蘑菇视频

Nov 20, 2015 By Jon Stevens 4 min read

A week from now, most of us will be recovering from the day before, that traditional gluttonous gathering with family or friends known as Thanksgiving.

Many will travel, as I will, to spend a day or two with family, while others will opt to stay at home and host the meal, silently bemoaning the mess a turkey dinner makes in the kitchen.

And, the challenge of Thanksgiving remains the same 鈥� making sure everything is hot when it gets to the table. I have learned, however, a few cocktails before dinner makes one not care if the meal is hot or not.

This once-a-year event when we all 鈥済ather together to ask the Lord蘑菇视频 blessing鈥� got me thinking about mealtime the other 364 days of the year.

I recognize the American family dynamic is much different today than when I was growing up 50-some years ago.

First, the so-called nuclear family, consisting of a father, mother and their children, is becoming more an anomaly than the norm, and I consider myself fortunate to have been raised in that environment.

This is not to say, however, I am any better or worse a person than someone who grew up under different circumstances. All I am saying is that I feel fortunate because I ate 99.9 percent of my evening meals around the kitchen table with my father, mother and two sisters.

The kitchen table meal was, and I would bet, still is, regarded as a vital part of the socialization and growth of a family.

We three kids were expected to be at the table and ready to eat at the specified time. Occasionally, there would be extenuating circumstances, such as an after-school event (rare for us during those formative years), and illness (鈥渃ome sit at the table even if you can鈥檛 eat.鈥�)

I don鈥檛 know how it came to be but we always sat in the same place. Mother sat at the end closest to the 鈥渨orking鈥� kitchen. Now, my sisters sat on opposite sides of the table for obvious reasons. Prepubescent and then hormonal twins could create an Animal House environment in seconds.

Generally, sitting around the Formica-topped table on metal chairs with leather-like stuffed cushions was a time to treasure. More times than not, we all had something to say about our day.

We interacted with each other, sometimes not in the way the script was written, but we had the chance to express ideas, divergent opinions and most of the time, just make small talk.

The kitchen table had a greater impact on my life than the television (computers weren鈥檛 invented yet.) I actually looked forward to coming home from school, asking what was for dinner and then sitting around the table.

I know this sounds nauseatingly 鈥淟eave it to Beaver鈥�-esque.

And I also realize that not everyone growing up during the era I did enjoyed what I have later come to define as a ritual, in the most positive sense.

If we youngsters acted up at the table, it was not, 鈥淕o to your room.鈥� It was, 鈥淪it there and be quiet until we are all finished eating.鈥�

That kitchen table upbringing gave me the foundation to be either a good Thanksgiving host or guest. I stay at the table until everyone is finished; I attempt to engage in intelligent conversation; and I restrain myself from flipping a hunk of mashed potatoes at the person sitting across from me at the table.

So, with the world seemingly going to hell around us, take some time next Thursday to be thankful for all the good things in your life and embrace those friends and family members with whom you are sharing this meal.

Happy Thanksgiving!