A Seat at the Adult Table

Looking back on my life, Thanksgiving, Christmas, family reunions, marriages, funerals and other events that bring family all have had something in common. That something is defined by the dinner table. Or rather dinner tables.

You know how it is. You’re not a kid anymore. In fact, from the moment I turned 10 (that was when I decided I must now be an adult for some arbitrary reason) I wondered why my place at these events was always with the children. Never mind the fact that I hadn’t discovered girls and liked to play GI-Joes at recess still. I was the first cousin on my dad’s side to hit double digits and that demanded respect! Then came Christmas.

We would get done opening our presents from Grandma, still in our footsie pajamas, and begin the real fun: finding the biggest box to make a fort/playhouse. This architectural masterpiece was, of course, as far away from the furnace room in the basement as possible, as everyone knows that there are ghosts in there! And then our parents would call us back upstairs to the dinner table(s). Grandma always had our plates ready for us at the kid’s table and we were just close enough to the adult table to be kept in line.

I would chew my ham, or whatever, and look over to where the adults sat and wonder why they thought I was too young to join in their conversation. Of course, I didn’t have much to say about how Uncle Steve’s church was doing or how Uncle Roger’s high school class was going. Church matters bored me and Roger taught History, which had never caught on to me as something important. My father was a truck driver with a way cool perm and his job seemed to be of little interest compared to the others. Churches were growing and the kids at school were doing drugs in the bathrooms. I don’t know what the ladies discussed, because they were girls and that was that.

I would then turn to the kids that I sat with and we would begin the conversation about the great sledding we would have on Grandma’s hill. I go by that hill every few weeks or so now, and just cannot believe that it once looked so imposing. They must have leveled it some, as you just couldn’t break the sound barrier on it now. Dessert would follow (always lefse, peanut brittle and ice cream, even in the wintertime) and the kids would go back to the fort or out to the hill. But during the meal, I wanted to fit in with the adults. I knew that I had nothing to contribute to their conversation, but they could talk about GI-Joe or He-Man or some other hyphenated toy, right?

A seat at the kid’s table sums up much of what I’m all about. I am now in my 30’s and still relate to kids everywhere who are certainly not to be confused with children any longer. That is why I was the games dude at Awana last year. That is why I have been known to grab my treat and drink and sit cross-legged with the kids at our church between Sunday School and the Worship Service. I relate to them on a certain level and they relate to me. We “get” each other. I can forget such things as a mortgage and car insurance for a bit and discuss the latest cartoon on Nickelodeon with them. Kids love it when an adult will converse with them without acting all adulty and condescending. To be honest, I like it as well. Kids don’t measure your worth by asking your occupation.

This last week, I was mentioned among such Blog Gems as Jollyblogger, The Thinklings, La Shawn Barber, Rebecca Writes and several other “big guys” over at The Broken Messenger. The trouble is, I still feel like I’m sitting at the kid’s table, hoping the snow doesn’t melt before I can get my boots on! I have no seminary education, haven’t finished university and don’t yet know what I’m going to be when I grow up. But I have been given a place at the table and wonder if I have anything to add to the conversation. This isn’t me fishing for compliments. It’s just me being who I am. Some call it humble, others call it insecure. I call a willingness to approach the kids as I wanted to be approached. On their level.

I guess a seat at the adult table is fine with me. I may not have a profession of distinction, but can listen and offer my thoughts from time to time. Just save a seat for me on the floor so we can drink our ginger ale and Hi-C punch and eat our Rice Crispie treats together from time to time, OK?