What Happened (Part 28)

Today, however, the playing is simply abandoned when Mom sticks her head around the door and says she’s been calling us, and that supper is ready.  We run to the bathroom, jostle around the sink to wash our hands, and then race to the kitchen.  We just turn the corner into the kitchen when to our happy surprise the back door opens and Pop comes in, home early from work.  We cheer, surround him, hug his legs, and ask if he brought us back anything.  Usually he has some gum or Lifesavers in his pockets, and he takes a moment to judiciously dole them out.  Mom kisses him and tells him he’s just in time.  We hustle him into the living room, sit him down, and help him off with his socks and hard black work shoes, which he acknowledges with a theatrical sigh of relief.  While he goes to change his shirt and put on more comfortable footwear, Mom rearranges the table slightly by setting him his place at the head of the table.  Kenny climbs into the high chair and Mike pushes him up to the table.  When Pop comes in we are all in our places and ready to begin.

The preliminaries consist of us all fixing our plates.  The meal I have chosen for this typical day is one of the most basic and almost stereotypical for our family.  I refer, of course, to the dish that Pop euphemized for us as the Same Old Stuff, or S.O.S.  This simple but nourishing dish is just hamburger meat scrambled and fried with diced onions, salt, and pepper, then made into gravy using water, milk and flour.  You serve it over a slice of torn up bread or on the butter noodles that are inevitably made with it as a side.  Since I want to particularly enjoy this imaginary instance, I’m going to add green beans (one of my favorites) as the vegetable, though we were just as often served harder to palate examples like spinach or Brussels sprouts. Luckily supper includes iced tea, poured from a frosted glass pitcher and with lemon provided in a yellow plastic coffee cup: with enough tea you could wash the nastier greens down without having to taste them too much.  S.O.S. remains a delicious comfort food that turns up on our table every now and then.

When everyone’s plate was ready, it was time to pray.  Mom would solemnly nominate one of us to do the job, and you could hesitate but not refuse.  Everyone got quiet; we bowed our heads, folded our hands, and shut our eyes (no peeking allowed, and definitely no giggling). We prayed:

Come, Lord Jesus,

Be our guest.

Let this food

To us be blessed.

Amen.

 

Everyone joined in on the Amen. I sometimes wondered what would happen if Jesus did join us, for usually there was just enough food to go around. The older and heartier of us could get second helpings, just so there would be no leftovers hanging around.  When Mom fried a chicken (which she did to perfection) there was a regular decision-of-Solomon situation as to who got what piece, although eventually everyone settled on a favorite. Deserts are rare, but sometimes there is fruit or Jello or even just a piece of jelly bread.  When we are done eating, we have to ask to be excused from the table, and push our chair in before we leave. Mom turns on the radio in the kitchen window and settles in to clean up and wash dishes. For us, it is time for evening TV.