You can tell how the family is by the atmosphere around the dinner table. I'm sorry to say, that as a child, I was the cause of a lot of tension. No one could get me to eat what I didn't like, and I didn't like most things. I remember hiding crust in the sugar bowl. Throwing food to the dog. Hiding meat in the mashed potatoes.
The worst was when I spilled milk, twice in a row. My father would slam his hand down on the table and scream obscenities, "Every gd time we sit down to eat, she spoils it."
But I wasn't doing it on purpose.
That's why I never pushed my kids to eat. They didn't want what was served, "fine." Just no dessert. When they were older, they were allowed to get up and make themselves something else.
No big deal.
Everyone says the dinner table should be a place of happy intimacy. I've tried to do that in my own family because I remember my childhood's table being a place of hostility. My fault, I'm sorry to say. I made dinner hell.
Lord have mercy on my poor parents. They did the best they could.
