ANOTHER CIVILIZED DINNER HOUR AT THE WESTBROOKS---A public service story for all of you who either have no kids or very young ones.
Living with a teenager is like living with Dr. Jekyl- no-wait- it's like living with Mr.Hyde and occasionally-the civilized Dr. Jekyl.
Every few weeks I realize that we haven't had a dinner together in a while and I decide that we're going to sit down at the same time, all of us, eat a decent meal, take an interest in each other's lives, and intelligently discuss something-anything-I'm not particular
what. For some reason, this family dining experience is like childbirth, in that the horror of it all fades quickly, a peculiar phenomenon that enables us to repeat the exercise again and again. I suppose God intentionally added this amnesiac quality to the maternal
psyche or else we'd never have more than one child and that child would never learn to eat with a fork.
Anyway, the urge for a family hour came upon me strongly this week and I made a casserole and a salad and dessert. I even baked a loaf of bread, which isn't as impressive as it sounds because I just got a breadmachine for Christmas and they really take all sense of accomplishment out of the art, like a Bach fugue composed on a computer. No soul.
“I can't sit down! I have a Government project!” protests CW, when I call everyone in for dinner.
This is a bad beginning. When CW decides he doesn't have time to eat, the whole thing becomes a battle of wills. Ammo is his usual acquiescent self and takes his place expectantly, anticipating the usual entertainment. We all sit. Dan sighs; he's tired, he
knows what's coming, he knows it has to be done every now and then, but he isn't looking forward to it.
“SO-how was everyone's day?” he begins jovially. He sounds like a bad actor in a 50's sitcom.
Silence.
“Can I be excused now?” asks CW. “I have a Government project.”
“We haven't started eating yet,” Dan says, his smile fading. “Now how was your day?”
CW's foot begins to jiggle rapidly
“CW. Sit still.” I say in a calm tone.
“I can't. I have a Government project.”
“You have to eat. Sit still.”
“Why can't I be excused? I have a government project. Don't you care about my grades?” The other leg begins to jiggle. His fork jiggles on his plate. I clench my jaw; I'm not stupid. I know he knows what he's doing. He knows he's driving me insane.
“Sit still-NOW,” roars Dan. CW looks satisfied and the tremors subside.
“So! How IS your government class? What an exciting time to be in an AP class! “ I enthuse.
A blank look. “Why?”
“Well-because of everything that's going on! Surely you're discussing the impeachment? This is a fascinating time to be in a class like that!” I talk like this when I'm being June
Cleaver.
“Yeah. Can I be excused now?”
“No-You haven't eaten your casserole.”
“Neither has Ammo. Look! Look what he's doing!” Dramatic shout accompanied by vigorous pointing with fork.
We all look at Ammo who has patiently and quietly picked all the chopped broccoli out of his casserole and spread it in an artistic thin circle around his plate, surrounding the colorful Greek salad in the center and attractively accented with the turkey chunks. The
mushrooms form a little forest on the salad. “Really good dinner, Mom,” Ammo says, smiling sweetly.
How would he know? UNless he means it provided excellent art materials. “That's very interesting, Ammo.”
He points at the mushrooms. “Birnham Woods.” Looking at CW, he says
knowledgeably, “Macbeth.”
“I know that!” CW is incensed. “I took stupid Sophomore English once.”
“Are we going to watch the State of the Union Address?” I try again. Dan seems to have given up, silently, methodically working his way through the dinner with the expression of a man
undergoing excruciating dental work.
CW suddenly comes to life--Dr. Jekyl emerges. It's the strangest thing --one minute he's completely alienated from us all and the next he becomes the Bob Barker of the Dinner Hour. “Hey!” He cries, face alight with bonhomie. “You know how you're supposed to
start a speech with a joke? You know how Clinton is starting his? ‘I did not have sexual relations with anyone in this room! But seriously folks...” He starts doing impersonations of Clinton giving his speech. “Hey, Al--3rd row on the left! You can see
all the way up her skirt.!' “ Suddenly he's Italian- ”Are youa impeachinga me? You musta be impeachinga me! I'm the onlya presidenta uppa here”
We are looking at him, entranced. Does this qualify as a thoughtful discussion on world events, I wonder. As quickly as it started, it stops.
“Can I be excused now. I have a government project.” the face is sullen; the legs resume jiggling.
“Yes. Go. Are you going to be up all night? “
“Naw-it'll only take about five minutes.” He leaves very quickly, perhaps noticing his father's face. But I'm satisfied. Already the maternal amnesia is taking effect. Tomorrow I'll remember
that we had a lovely discussion about literature and government. |
