Growing up, my brothers and I sat at the dinner table every night with my parents. This was not a choice it was a rule that was only broken on the very rare occasion that we had friends sleeping over or lots of family over for a holiday (and in the case of holiday parties we were still expected to sit at a table, just in another room...)
Now, as a twenty-something wife and "someday mother," I have come to appreciate the kitchen table and understand why this place was so important to my parents. In this world of non stop electronic humming - from phones, computers, TVs and video games - the table is the last place in the house where a family of two (or ten) can sit, talk, relax and do all of this while actually looking at each other (I didn't make this up, check out this post on the Integrated Mother). This rudimentary piece of furniture has the potential to rebuild the grounds for communication, love and family. It is a tool that no family should be without and all families should gather at at least once a day, if only for a cup of coffee.
So why on earth would I consider turning the table into my own personal bonfire?
Because... I sit here alone every night.
Despite desperate measures, such as hiding the TV remote, unplugging the WiFi and making really freaking good shepherd's pie, I cannot for the life of me get Clark to sit at the table for dinner. At this point, the only way I might have any luck getting him to notice the table is if I light it on fire.
The few times he has joined me I felt as if I was dragging a child to the dentist to get their first filling. I have asked him nicely to "just turn the TV off for dinner and sit with me" to which he says "OK..." and mopes over, slumps down, shovels food into his mouth and says all of five words to me. The first few times I thought I had done something wrong, or made really awful chicken. He assured me nothing was wrong and continued to eat. Sometimes he will sit at the table and leave the TV on and sit facing it. This is the one time I truly consider having a TV-free home (but then I'll wind up with really, really, weird kids... you know the type.)
I simply don't understand the appeal of sitting on the couch with a plate precariously balanced on my knees, trying to eat shish kababs. Perhaps this is because we - my brothers and I - were not entirely allowed to watch TV (or enjoy TVs mind-rotting cousins: Video Games and the Internet) as we were growing up and so these things are not as appealing to me as it is to someone who banked thousands of electronic hours in their formative years. We work all day, why wouldn't a family want to spend just half an hour in quiet to catch up, laugh and share a meal? Can you, Mrs. Reader, help me with this one??
As it is, I am sitting here at the table officially starting my strike. Well, I don't want to be too negative; yes, I am on strike but I will not nag, berate or harass Clark. I will remain patient (for once!!), and will not give in to the sexy allure of the couch and TV, until he decides, for himself, that he wants to join me for dinner. Should he choose never to make that decision... well. It could get interesting.
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