(Re)Setting the Table
One of the most important things my family did when I was young was eating meals, especially dinner, together around the dining room table: Dad, Mom, my brother, my sister, and me. We shared many conversations, laughs, arguments, and stories around that table over the years as I was growing up.
A classic, solid wood, midcentury modern piece with two extendable leaves, it was the centerpiece of our dining room. It was the site of the sacred act of sitting together and sharing food, sometimes with special guests.
Around this table, we welcomed friends who needed a place to feel welcome for a short while. Around this table, we had our first conversation about my parents getting a cell phone when cell phones were grey plastic bricks that you had to pay for by the minute. My brother, sister, and I were so surprised (we grew up thrifty, not necessarily buying the latest tech) that the three of us simultaneously exclaimed, “Cell phones?!”
Under this table, our dog Josie would lie in wait for morsels of fallen food. Under this table, my brother and I stretched out our growing legs and would accidentally bump our feet into our parents’ feet as they sat opposite us (“OK, Jeremy,” Mom would say with a roll of her eyes, referencing a teenaged character from the newspaper funnies who often did the same thing to his parents).
On this table, we laid Mom’s wonderful cooking, the cooking that taught me what good, healthy food was supposed to look and taste like. On this table, Mom laid many a pretty tablecloth or a clear plastic cover that showcased the beautiful wood grain.
Fast-forward.
In the four years that came after I graduated college, both Mom and my Papa (Dad’s dad) passed away. As a result, Dad inherited Papa’s dining room table. He passed our original table to me, and I moved it into my first apartment. Then I moved it into my first house.
Unfortunately, I’ve never been that careful with my possessions—even my inherited ones (in the words of Tobey Maguire’s Spider-Man, “I’m trying to do better.”). I should’ve covered the table with a cloth, but I didn’t. After various mishaps, its surface became damaged by water stains and other unsightly marks.
A different, smaller table that didn’t have those marks eventually came into my home, so I moved the original table into my basement, where it sat for a couple years. I think I was a bit embarrassed at how poorly I’d taken care it. But the table was patient, and it waited for me to do something new with it. I wasn’t about to get rid of it, no matter how dirty or stained it became. It was precious even in its marred state.
Then, I met a couple who refinish old furniture as a side gig. I asked them to work on this worn, old, memory-filled table, and refresh it to its former beauty. It turned out even better than I had hoped (thank you, my friends, once again).
This table will return to my dining room. I’ll get a nice tablecloth or two for it and make sure it stays in decent condition.
I intend to set this table for others. It will once again be a place where friends, family, and even strangers can gather to share meals, stories, and games in the years to come. This table has a rich heritage that I want to build into a legacy. Reset and rejuvenated, it will receive a new, yet old, purpose. Lord willing, it will last the test of time.