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Last Updated 09/06/05
Email: joy@our-town.com
Lesson at the Supper Table
In
mid-January it was pitch dark outside by six in the evening. The north wind that had howled around the house
all day, had laid down at sunset, and inside our kitchen there was warmth and the smell of
supper on the stove. Mama was stirring
sliced potatoes as they turned golden in an iron skillet half full of melted lard, and
turning pork chops with a long fork in another. Biscuits
were almost done in the oven. It was time to
set the table.
I wiped the oilcloth covered
kitchen table with a damp wash rag and then
got dishes and cutlery from a cabinet against
the wall. As I set the table, I reviewed
facts I thought I'd need for a history test the next day.
History was my favorite subject and at twelve years old, I had a crush on
our handsome teacher, Mr. Norman. My
best friend, Ouida had a crush on him too, as did practically all the girls. He was tall and thin and always wore a suit and a
tie with his white shirt and he never shouted at us, but was always kind and helpful.
Mr. Norman had a pretty wife
who taught English right across the hall from her husband and it was plain to everyone
that they were crazy about each other. My
girl friends and I all thought this was really neat, their being in love and all, but that didn't stop us from worshiping our teacher
from afar. I was certainly content to sit in
the same classroom with him and to be happy
with compliments about my reports and grades. I
would have never in this world considered the feelings
I had for my teacher to be anything more than what it was, an attraction.
As I finished setting the
table, and put a kerosene lamp at one end, Dad came in from
the barn, put out the lantern he'd carried to light his path, took off his
denim jumper, and strained up the milk. After
he'd "washed up", we sat down at
the table. At first there was no conversation
as we passed food and filled our plates but after the first mouthful Mama asked Dad how
Old Kit was doing.
"Well, Blanche, I just
don't think I can hitch her up to plow anymore. She's
about lived up her days, just old you know. Old
and plum wore out."
"You mean Kit's gonna
die!" I suddenly remembered all the long
sunny afternoons I'd ridden that black mule across the shinnery in our back pasture. Dad always plowed the fields with machinery drawn
by a team of mules. Two of these mules were
broke to ride, Kit and Red. I'd been riding
both of them since I was three years old. I
had to admit that lately I'd been more interested in school and my friends than riding a
mule bareback through the pastures but now I felt the tears ready to come at the thought
of Kit dying.
"How old is that mule,
you think?" My mother wanted to know.
"Oh, I guess she's
twenty-five, maybe more. I bought her in '25,
right after we moved from Hunt County. She
was nine or ten then."
Nobody said anything more
about the mule then, we were all busy with our own thoughts until Mother asked me about
school. History is my best subject, I told
them and then I smiled as I said, "I sure do like my teacher. He is really cute."
"Oh! What's his name?" Dad wanted to know, but he never looked up from
his plate. I told them about Mr. Norman and
that he told us stories about the Indians and the early settlers and he made history seem
so real for us. I told them that he liked to
sit on a corner of the desk and swing his legs as he talked and that when he finished
about the Alamo and early Texans' fight for
independence, we were all ready to go to battle.
Mother took a drink from her
glass, "Sounds like a good teacher to me." She looked across the table and her
brown eyes fastened on eyes exactly the same as hers.
"Just be sure that you always remember, HE is the teacher. YOU are the student. I know you will always behave in a way to bring
honor to this family." Her eyes remained
locked on mine for several seconds, then she let me go and we finished eating.
I have a lifetime of
memories that were born around the table, first
in my parents' house, later in my own, when we sat down together. Many of those occasions were for a meal where we
shared the joys and sorrows of the day, other times there were books and papers spread out
for homework, still other times we shared a cup of coffee and worked through problems we
met together. There is something so settling
about sitting down to a table that brings out the best of sharing, ideas or food.
Maybe America's families
need to gather around the table to see if they can regain their own values. There is
something so positive about sitting around a table of food, prepared by the mother of the
house, discussing events of the day. This is
the time to discuss what happened in English IV or exactly what was said out in the hall
before Chemistry class.
We used to do that, talk
about what happened, who said what, which teacher seemed to be a whimp, whatever....do
kids do that anymore? Does anybody talk to
their parents? Are the parents ever at home?
Hopefully families will get
together, if not together already. It is a
short life we live here on this earth. The
next one will be a great deal longer. We need
to get ourselves together to enjoy what time we have here so that the next world will be
even more enjoyable.
Living together is the key
to everything. We must learn to live together
and to enjoy one another, forgiving one another.