Tonight you and your loving spouse probably ate a romantic dinner by candlelight, with Chopin Nocturnes playing gently in the background. The table gleaming with silver and crystal, you gracefully consumed your lowfat, healthy, gourmet food at your leisure and discussed the events of the day in low, articulate, intelligent tones, pausing occasionally to gaze into each other's eyes and smile seductively, she clad winsomely in a clinging hostess gown, you elegant in -well-whatever the male equivalent is.
That is how I picture the mealtime of the childless couple.
And even if it wasn't quite that glamorous, let me present dinner at the Westbrooks this evening so that all of you will start tomorrow thanking God for your own lives and the fact that you don't live with us.
In my continuing effort to promote gracious living, I insist on family dinner at least once a week. Tonight was the night. It began with the ritual, "Do we have to do this? I really have a lot of homework." from CW. And the routine, "I'm not hungry," from Ammo, who, in a truly remarkable feat, had earlier consumed most of a 9x11 pan of chocolate-marshmallow-graham cracker bars in the thirty seconds I left the kitchen to let the cat in. I answer by rote, "Yes we do." And "Too bad." Dan quickly picks up his cue, "Siddown."
"Let's say grace," says Ammo enthusiastically, grabbing my hand, because he knows CW's next line.
"No. I'm an atheist," objects CW.
"Just think about something else," says Dan.
"You're infringing on my rights," says CW.
Dan squeezes his hand tightly until he's quiet and says the blessing. Ammo won't let go of our hands. "Let's see if we can eat dinner with no hands!"
"Don't even think it," says Dan, as Ammo's face heads toward his potatoes.
Dan and I take a deep breath. It's time for "civilized conversation."
THe phone rings. It sounds very loud-probably because CW has the portable in his lap. Dan kills that communication quickly with a look.
Ammo puts a cup of ketchup on my delicious dijon-brownsugar-vinegar and applesauce stuffed meatloaf. THen he asks for barbeque sauce, but changes his mind when he sees the look on my face.
"My car died again today," CW begins. "But I jumped it all by myself. I got all the steps right without the book. Remembered that the red one goes on the positive."
"No-that's wrong," I say. "Black is positive."
"Mommm-black is always negative."
"That's a bad thing to say," contributes Ammo, smirking. We all stare at him. "It's racist," he explains, and laughs at his wit.
For some reason this sets CW off on a diatribe about affirmative action. He once argued both pro and con in a debate tournament and can reel off his speeches at will without thought and in so rapid a speech that it's incomprehensible. The rest of us take the opportunity to eat. When he's done, Dan attempts to talk about an appeal ruling on a case he argued seven years ago. THe table begins to move around.
"Stop!" I hiss.
"His feet are on my side!" cries Ammo.
"No they're not!" yelled CW. They start kicking each other. Blue shoots out from under the table where Ammo has been slipping him meatloaf.
"That's enough!" shouts Dan. There's a moment of silence.
CW's face lights up. "DAD! I have a quiz for you. Boog and I have this theory we came up with in Physics."
Dan puts on his interested face.
"You walk into the men's room and there are five urinals. You know what a urinal is, don't you Mom?" Please note how he graciously includes me in the conversation. I nod, anxious to please.
"There are guys at the first one and the third one. Which one do you use?"
"THe fifth one," says Dan, after thinking a moment.
"That's right!" CW says excitedly. "Now you walk in and there are guys at one, three and four. Which one do you use?"
"It depends on where I came in," says Dan.
"What do you mean?" CW is incensed. This is ruining his theory. He turns to me. "Mom?"
"Do they have doors?" I ask.
"Mommmm! They're urinals! They're just there."
"Then I wouldn't use any of them." I say. Ammo rolls his eyes at me. "Especially if there are guys there." I laugh, thinking myself very amusing.
Dan isn't done. "I'd use the closest one to the door."
CW sighs. "Well, that's wrong. Most guys would use five so they can have a wall on one side. What if you walk in and there's a guy at one, three, four and five, what do you do?"
Dan just looks at him. "Is that a trick question or something?"
"NO!" CW is fast losing patience with his father. To him these are obvious answers and his father is screwing up his theory.
"I'd use two."
CW and Ammo exchange looks and shake their heads. "Real men would wait."
"For what?" Dan asks, puzzled.
Ammo rolls his eyes. "So you don't have to go between two guys!" he explains, as if to an idiot child. "I got it right!"
I stare at my meatloaf and wonder if it's possible for a woman to use a urinal.
"Can I go now?" CW obviously feels he has contributed more than his share tonight toward edifying conversation.
"No, your brother's not done."
Ammo is never done. Ammo has never finished a meal in his life. We all stare at him. He spears one kernel of corn with his fork, lifts it slowly to his mouth, and smiles at us beatifically.
"Mom-m-m-m-m!!!" CW is pushed beyond his endurance. He hasn't talked to Nicole in at least twenty minutes.
"You're excused." I say hurriedly. I start to clear the table. Dan wanders off to the den. Ammo will keep eating, one kernel at a time, until the kitchen is completely clean and then he'll walk over with his dirty plate and say, "I'm done!" with his most angelic, sweetest smile. |
