Sliding open the barn door, the antiques dealer ushered my
newlywed parents into his workshop filled with cobwebs and piles of ‘old wood
furniture’. A table caught my mother’s eye as it was covered in half-used paint
cans, but had gorgeous legs. My father was more interested in a fall-front
desk, which they bought and will have its own tales to tell one day. The
over-spilled paint cans on the rather large table fascinated my mother though
and she asked if she might buy it. The dealer explained that it would need
‘some work’. But the proportions were just perfect for the dining room in their
new house, and being a somewhat determined woman, she persuaded the man to
restore the table to its former glory.
Over the years the table hosted many dinner parties. It also
was where my sister and I learned to eat once we outgrew entirely eating with
our hands. The beautiful dark mahogany surface was never covered with a cloth.
Placemats were preferred although not always used. The sound of the knives and
forks and spoons being set every day has left an indelible mark. There was
never any noisy clanking, but rather a measured purposeful sound, much the way
the conversation usually flowed.
And like the conversation, which remained civil and
uninteresting much of the time, so too the table rarely expanded to its full
size. When the large leaves were added and the table was fully set for a formal
dinner, oddly the conversations developed into more meaningful exchanges of
ideas and real lessons were learned. We learned about different foods and how
to eat them properly, where they came from, who grew them, even how they were
cultivated. Animal husbandry was introduced, as were discussions on hunting and
shooting. We learned that food originated in the wild, in natural settings and
not on grocery store shelves.
Politics and economics were introduced at an early age as
our family was heavily involved in both. We learned to appreciate the strengths
of all people in office and spent far less time discussing weaknesses. Leading
politicians, great athletes, and a few entertainers became our mentors. In
these formative years, one could trust those around one. Fear of punishment was
also something we learned to trust never reared its ugly head at the dining
room table. Unpleasantness was never discussed. Shortcomings in the classroom
or poor performances at sports were brought up at other times. The dining table
was a safe haven from a world fraught with the challenges of growing up in a
privileged but nonetheless highly dysfunctional family.
I remember my first sip of wine. I was about twelve years
old and the wine was diluted with a splash of water. My mother took some
pleasure in seeing the ominous uncharacteristic mildly twisted smile that
spread across my face. And at that age I
learned how to serve and clear a table, making sure not drop anything, and but
how to move silently around a table. This came surprisingly easily to me and I
rather enjoyed participating in the process. I am grateful that the table
witnessed and experienced my newly acquired abilities.
My sister and I usually ate early and alone at the large
table where we would discuss our day at school, how we were going to avoid our
mother’s idiosyncratic behavior and how much fun our father would be when he
came home from work. We always loved it when he came home and the table was
always watching our hundreds of hugs and kisses.
We grew up at that table. We became adolescents and then one
day that table was gone. Through the ravages of life, divorces, new houses and
blended families, the table needed to find a new home. A museum benefitted from
its departure. It was sold as an original Duncan Phyfe, which it was, and is
now gracing the dining room of another unknown family. It will always remember
what it heard while in our care, much as it did in the care of countless
previous families and even while resting under the paint cans and cobwebs.
I hope it retains the peace and comfort it afforded us as
children. After all, dining room tables overhear some of the most meaningful
conversations families have.
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