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Table for Two

My first real responsibility in our family was to learn to set the table.
The table was the most important job. More than folding laundry, more than mowing the lawn, more than making the beds, the most important thing was preparing the table.
My mom is a good cook, but the dinner conversation was always better than the food. And frankly, more important.
I remember learning to make place cards as soon as I could learn to write names. I remember my parents splicing together all of the tables that we owned – the dining table, the kitchen table, every card table, every tray table. I remember them putting every chair around the table – folding chairs that we kept in the basement, lawn chairs we kept in the garage, and a piano bench on the end for good measure.
Every house I’ve ever lived in had one room big enough to host a dinner party, because that’s the first prerequisite.
And at the table, there’s always room for one more.  I could always invite a friend to stay after school, for the evening, or overnight. They opened our home to students from all over – the African children’s choir, the Pioneer Girls from Canada, and our beloved foreign exchange student from Sweden.
I have infamously gone down in family history for frequently asking my parents during third quarter if I could have a few friends over after the football game. How many friends? The whole band.
My brother sprung a cast party on my parents on the day of opening night of his senior year high school musical. Instead of bawking about a clean house, they called the local pizza places to find the best deal.
The eve of my birthday, when 25 of my friends from camp staff showed up in the front yard to serenade underneath my open bedroom window, my parents heard them before I did. Of course they welcomed everyone in, and of course they served the snacks that were handy at two in the morning: popsicles and Cheetos all around.
The answer was always, yes. There was always room at the table.
Except for when there wasn’t. And I can tell you when there wasn’t.
When it was time for it to be just us.
Family vacations? No guest allowed.
Sunday afternoon lunch? No guest allowed.
In the twilight hour after dinner, when it’s time to clear the dishes, even my brother and I were not welcome at the table. It was my parents’ chance to download the day, and remember that they were best friends before we ever existed
The table has always been the heartbeat.
Mom and Dad, here’s to you on this day, on your 49th wedding anniversary.
Thanks for preparing the table.

Doyle and Polly
1975
Tricia Lott Williford

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  1. Sue Muckley says:

    So beautiful, the gift of hospitality!

  2. Carroll Lee says:

    Beautiful family, beautiful memories❤️

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