Sunday Dinner--  

Bellefourchelove 62M
108 posts
10/11/2005 8:19 am

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Sunday Dinner--

Recalling some incidents of my childhood and trying to draw some conclusions. I think it goes with passing the half-century mark in age. The trouble is, I’ve concluded that there are few conclusions to be drawn.

As a child, I would join my family in my father’s parent’s home for Sunday dinner each week. All the great aunts and uncles would be there, along with an occasional aunt, uncle and a few cousins.

We would come in and find all the men sitting in the living room, smoking cigars, watching television and relaxing. The young children and the females of any age were consigned to the kitchen area. The woman prepared the food, fed the children and themselves in the kitchen, out of the way where they would not bother the men.

At some point, the men would be called to the table. No women sat at this table on Sunday. A couple of the aunts would stand at their little stations around the table and if the corn or mashed potatoes ran low, they’d run to the kitchen for more. The others would stay in the kitchen to mind the children etc.

It had always been this way…something about the old country; and here I thought the Dutch were so liberal–

My mother’s name was Hazel and she thought the way things were done on Sunday was bullshit. On afternoon, on the ride home, she told my father she was not going for the Sunday servitude routine anymore. He explained that she had to–it was just the way things were. I vaguely remember they had a spirited discussion on the subject.

The next Sunday, mother went right straight to the kitchen to join the other women in their weekly chore, but when the men were called to the table, mother seated herself right next to them and dished herself a plate of food. Nobody said a word. My father was humiliated.

The next week, Sunday dinner was cancelled to give everyone time to talk it all out on the phone. Hazel had broken tradition.

The next time the family met for Sunday dinner, the women and children sat at the table along with the men.

Hazel was a great person and a fantastic mother. She and my father wound up divorced and she involved herself with men who were bad for her–and us as children–eventually, she was overcome, became cynical and smoked herself to death at age sixty-four. I write about her here, because it was important to her that she never be forgotten.

onelittlesecret 33M
1579 posts
10/11/2005 12:24 pm

This is a very touching post...

Bellefourchelove 62M

10/12/2005 7:25 am

Thank you for commenting. My mom was one special person, but she allowed others to grind the life out of her. She died (many years ago) on our anniversary; my wife figured because she never wanted to be forgotten. So please whisper her name today if you have a moment and the inclination. Hazel--

pussnboots694 73M/78F

10/12/2005 7:17 pm

From my lips..
softly I whisper Hazel..
She will never be forgotten..
For she lives on inside of you

Bellefourchelove 62M

10/14/2005 5:40 pm

TY Sweetie!!! Hazel will appreciate it!!!

Bellefourchelove 62M

10/14/2005 5:42 pm

This next stuff was denied--wonder why--makes one wonder.

Fred must have been acutely aware he was black, because he used to show me the palms of his hands and ask me to show him mine, and then he'd say, "See, there's not that much difference."

We were in kindergarten; I had no idea at the time what he was getting at, because when I looked at Fred, I didn’t see color; I saw my friend.

Most of my friend’s families had cars, but Fred’s dad would pick him up after school on a bicycle. Fred would jump up on the handlebars and they would ride away home. Fred’s dad was quiet and extremely polite.

As it turns out, the city where we lived had an ordinance that prohibited “riding double” on a bicycle. One day, while walking home from school, I came upon this scene: a policeman had pulled into a driveway, blocking Fred and his father. As I got closer, I could see that the officer was raising his voice and treating my friends in a most disrespectful way.

I was you and na├»ve; I was under the impression a mistake had been made. I tried to straighten it out by explaining to the cop that the man was not a bank robber or anything like that, but was my friend’s dad.

This incited the officer–he actually growled at Fred’s dad to get rid of me. So…I’ll never forget the look in Fred’s Dad’s eyes as he looked into mine and said, “You all just run along home Stevie, everything’s going to be okay.” He had his cap cocked on his head and a trace of tears in his eyes…and image that haunts me to this day. Truly it breaks my heart that people receive this treatment.

…several years ago, I found myself back in my hometown, standing on the sidewalk in exactly the place this episode had played out in 1958 or 1959. Sitting on the porch of the house sat an interracial couple. Sometimes people evolve--

rm_FreeLove999 46F
16127 posts
10/15/2005 12:44 pm

Wow! she sounds amazing! my own mother rather stuck her head in the sand and pretended nothing bad was happening.

[blog freelove999]

goddessofbitches 41M/33F

10/16/2005 9:37 am

Hazel sounds like my type of woman. Not backing down and not caring what others thought about her, just doing as she wanted to. Like me...I do as I wish in everyday life. I will say as I want and do as I want. I am a stickler for tradition...but not so much so that I won't break it if something gets to me.

You had an amazing mother...and it seems she raised an exellent son.


Always The Bitch

goddessofbitches 41M/33F

10/6/2006 6:55 pm

I miss ya....please come back soon and visit..


Always The Bitch

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