I JUST MADE IT!
(A family of ten remembers the 50’s, 60’s, 70’s and 80’s)
The size of our family - ten children, a mother, a father, and a grandmother dictated that we have dinner in the dining room. You will note the characterization “in the dining room” rather than “at the dining room table”. There is a reason. While the dining room table, a beautiful dark stained, claw legged oak piece, was more than sufficient in size to hold our family and the more than occasional friend or two, dinner actually began in the kitchen. You see we always ate smorgasbord, filing our plates from the food first laid out at the kitchen table, thereafter, marching to our places in the dining room.
For our family the was a day-to-day experience. We never gave it a second thought. To guests, or to those who would hear us describe such a daily dinner ritual, it was unheard of - it was amazing. We found their amazement rather amusing.
At that large and boisterous table there was always a medley of conversation taking place simultaneously. More often than not it would increase in volume at least until we all heard that sharp tap of my father’s college ring on his dinner place. The “TAP” brought immediate silenced sprinkled with the honest giggle or two from the little ones.
There were many other instances when the dinner conversation din would stumble upon a common these. This organized us in somewhat of a military fashion such that from oldest to youngest we would all get our moment in time to offer our own remarks, thoughts, memories or comments.
One evening at the big table the conversation turned to memories of our individual births. Mom set the stage with each of us starting with Nancy, the oldest. we then all had out turn to comment.
It must have been late in the year because it was dark outside. We weren’t running in place at our seats anxious to burst out to our large side yard in order to gobble the remaining daylight up in play. I was in my usual seat, to the right of Dad. Mom was at the end across from Dad - closest to the kitchen. Bobby, the youngest, was in his usual place immediately to the left of Mom.
The conversation finally reached baby Bob. He was likely no more than 5 years old. Bobby had been listening rather intently. His eyes were bright and blue. He was our little red-haired boy. Regarding the significance of timing of his own birth, his comment was pure and true. “BOY, I JUST MAKE IT!”
-Mike