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Friday, August 21, 2015

"The Wisdom of Kitchen Tables"

“The Wisdom of Kitchen Tables”


I believe in kitchen tables. This may seem like a silly thing to believe in. Most people don’t give them much thought. I used to think that. When I was a kid a kitchen table was simply a place where you ate breakfast, lunch, or dinner. It took the death of my friend’s mom for me to really see the power and magic of kitchen tables. That was more than 10 years ago.


My friend, Bruce, lives in Ohio now and while I don’t see him as often as I would like too, I have so many memories of growing up with him. We became good friends in junior high--there weren’t very many middle schools back then. I spent a lot of nights at his house. He had a morning paper route and if you spent the night there then you were expected to help deliver the papers  during the predawn hours of darkness. While we were delivering the papers Carol would either go and get donuts or she would fix bacon and eggs for us.


Carol would sit at the kitchen table smoking her cigarettes and drinking her morning coffee. She could talk to anyone and she loved to hold court at that kitchen table. There was nothing very special about the table. It was a yellow Formica kitchen table and it only had room for four seats. I think they had to put a leaf in and pull up an extra chair when Bruce’s older brother was home from Ball State.


Perhaps that was what made sitting at the table so special. You felt privileged and conversation with Carol was like that. She was a good listener. You could tell she was really thinking about whatever it was you told her. She would wait for you to finish and then she would blow smoke out the corner of her mouth before she gave you her thoughts. One thing you could count on was that those thoughts would be honest.


One time I told her about my homecoming date my sophomore year. The date had not gone well and her response was, “So I assume you’re not asking her out again.”


Another time I told her that after high school I was thinking about going out to California and becoming a construction worker. She looked at me and said, “Nickels, you’re full of shit.”


When I told her I was thinking about going back to school to become a teacher she nodded and said, “Yeah, I can see that.”


People from all around their neighborhood spent time at that table. There was always a wide assortment of ages and genders. She was a people-person and all people were welcome at her table. Carol had strong opinions, but she wasn’t really judgmental. It’s worth mentioning that you didn’t want to get on her bad side and you sure didn’t want to cross her if she had been good to you.


It’s hard to put into words, but somehow those conversations helped to form a significant part of the person I would be when I grew up. Some vague promise within myself was reinforced there. Carol has been dead for a decade or so now, but someday I hope to sit down at a kitchen table with her again, so that I can thank her.



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