Every night my mother cooked dinner when I was a child. It was a ritual. She cooked, I set the table and we ate, discussing our adventures of the day. Sometimes there was music. Sometimes there was T.V. But always there was prayer. Not one pea, crumb or sip until after the “Amen”. One evening my mother got up from the table to get something from the kitchen (I can’t remember what), but when she returned, I was already helping myself. Her eyes met mine, and with one hand in the air, and my mouth agape, I knew something just wasn’t right. “You know better”, my mom stood at the entrance of the dining room with her eyes fixed and her hand on her hip, which was only a good thing if your were standing behind her, and someone else was in her path.
“Huh”, I was completely confused.
“You know better than to start eating without saying grace. Put that bread down.”
“But, Ma…”
“I don’t want to hear it. Bow your head”
“But you..”
“I said, ‘Bow your head'”. I was young, but I knew how to choose my battles. And so I bowed my head and closed my eyes, for a second. I peeked at my mother as, with her eyes closed, she began to pray.
“Our Father in heaven…” she hesitated as I continued to watch in amusement. “We thank you for…” she stopped. And without saying a word to each other, we both started giggling. We snickered and laughed and there truly was nothing left to do, but mumble “Thank you” and “Amen” through our laughter. She had prayed before she got up from the table the first time. At that age I didn’t know what made grown-ups do the things they did. Now that I am undeniably grown, I’ve done quite a few things twice (okay three times). Sometimes we just need to slow down and sharing a few laughs and a real meal, with people you love is one of the best ways to do it. Isn’t it funny how so many funny stories and good times involve food? By the way, I have yet to try my hand at home made biscuits, but I think I will before the year is out. I’ll let you know how that goes.
Ciao