There were few rules growing up that were hard and fast, if you didn't dare tempt the wrath of an irate Irishwoman, but for sure you'd better be at the dinner table with clean hands by 6 P.
M.
Or Else.
I never did find out what the "or else" clause was, because it just wasn't done.
We ran wild in the streets and neighborhoods from morning til night, but come dinner time, you must be within the sound of her voice.
My best friend's mom, overseeing a brood of some 6 or 8 kids, who knew they just kept coming, had a loud bell mounted outside the front door which clanged the "come home now" knell.
We all knew.
So, as my children grew, from the time of high chairs at the table until well, now, if they're around, you must come to dinner with Mom.
Clean hands included.
I don't know why such a simple ritual as eating dinner together has gone the way of dial phones and typewriters, but somehow, in this speeded up, convenience demanding lifestyle we live, the simple art of sitting down to dinner together is becoming a quaint notion of the Past, Ozzie and Harrietish.
I insisted on nightly dinners together.
I cooked, served and expected a grateful audience with my offspring, hopefully with some interesting conversation of their daily adventures.
No one was allowed to start until Mom sat down, last, and we all took one another's hands and said a brief thank you to Our Provider.
At times, it was "everyone say Grace.
"And we all said together "grace".
Amen.
I suppose with more mothers working fulltime, children's schedules maxed out with activities and phones ringing on different lines, it is trying to create a semblance of family togetherness.
Or the Simpsons latest episode blaring on the TV.
Modern life intervenes at every conceivable angle to disrupt such moments.
My children still joke about my utter meltdown, when after asking for the table to be set, I sat down to a place setting with salad forks instead of dinner forks.
My efforts to be the perfect Martha Stewart Hostess foiled by ignorant children unaware of such subtle differences.
Oh, the shame.
By and large, as my children grew, these nightly habits became a part of our family's cohesiveness.
Their friends joined us regularly, appearing hungry and thankful at our dinner table, a little embarrassed by having to join hands and pray, but they all did.
Hats were not allowed at the dinner table either, even for friends who never removed their hats except maybe to take a shower.
If they wanted a meal, rules were rules.
It's amazing the things that happened around our dinner table...
the jokes, the stories, the sharing.
One of my daughter's friends, now a mommy herself, still comes to our house and remembers "how cool" it was that we always ate together, that I always cooked for my kids, and, bless her heart, what a good cook I am! The simple things in life are the things that hold us together as a family unit.
Food is not comfort, nor love, and yet it is the stuff of life, the bread we share through the days we are together.
And for all the meals that I prepared, some with more love than others, and the endless shopping for and cleaning up after, I am well contented that my children know about balanced diets and home cooking.
Because the kitchen is the heart of the home, and there will always be a meal waiting for them if they care to come sit around our table to share.