THE KID'S TABLE

When I was little, the holidays were a very big deal to me in my home. It was the only time of year when my mom would put the "leaves" in our dining room table so as to fill it with all the people that would come to visit. The good china was broken free out of hibernation and gently placed on a freshly pressed table cloth. The silverware that she spent hours polishing the night before actually twinkled when the sun hit it the right way.

Like most families, my mom had designated an adjacent "Kid's Table" for us. Although it was a simple card table with folding chairs, she decorated it just as nice as the "Big Table," as I called it. But that didn't matter to me....I felt somewhat banished.

I spent a lot of time, young, complaining that I couldn't sit at the Big Table. It seemed like the best place to be. There sat my family, filling the room with laughter and heavy conversations. They would sip their drinks out of fancy crystal glasses, and smoke cigarettes that swirled up into the chandelier.

I can still see it now - the turkey, roasted to a golden perfection, surrounded by a moat of delicious stuffing and vegetables that permeated the air. There were fluffy mashed potatoes and a treasure trove of sparkling jewels — cranberries as rubies, small white onions for pearls, and bright emerald peas. Rolls were nestled under a hand towel to keep them warm so the butter melted within seconds. Of course we were not denied any of this delicious food, but somehow it lost it's luster as it made it's way over to the land of the lost where we sat.

After hunger replaced my disappointment, I would pretend that we were in fact, at the Big Table. I drank out of my Tupperware tumbler with sophistication and mimicked my parents' smoking with my spoon. Discussions were about heavy kid stuff like what toys we hoped to get for Christmas and how we all hated math and social studies.

When the day came that I was old enough to sit at the Big Table, I almost couldn't believe it. I finally got to trade in my beat up folding chair for the plush cushioned wood one. I felt empowered as if this were my own personal inauguration dinner — crossing the threshold from childhood to adulthood. I took in all of the moments and when I was finally handed a crystal glass, I held it carefully and traced my fingers over it's delicate etching and watched how it reflected in the light.

I sat and listened to the conversations. My family discussed everything from politics to poetry. From recipes to road rage. Everyone had a story. I even added a few things myself confirming that I was now a part of some secret society.

Years later, after I got married and had my own children, I found myself setting up a Kid's Table. My daughter, arms crossed, complained that she wants to sit at the Big Table and it's not fair. I had to laugh - was it not so long ago I uttered those exact words?

When dinner was ready and everyone sat down, both tables were noisy with excitement. My table is talking about the President, mortgage rates, our failing ozone layer, and the stock market. We are trading gluten and peanut free recipes because allergies are so prominent. Our phones are at the ready in case any breaking news needs to be shared the exact second it happens.

At one point, I glance over at the Kid's Table. I watch how string beans are skiing down mashed potato mountains and how the gravy is lava spilling out of stuffing volcanoes. There is heavy plotting and planning on how they are definitely going to catch Santa this year. My son wants to put a piece of lasagna out as he feels he gets too many cookies. I always thought a pot of espresso would be best...do you know how long it takes to put together a Barbie Town House, completely furnished with 314 stickers that need to be aligned correctly? :)

And then it hits me. This table. This magnificent little table off to the side is where I want to be. And boy, could I share some stories! I'd tell them how I used to run so fast for the ice cream truck to get the sugary snow cone that would stain your face for hours. Or how Atari was the absolute best video game system ever created. I would tell them how I used to ride my bike (banana seat and fringed handlebars included) without a helmet. Friendships were sealed by becoming blood brothers or giving your friend the larger half of the double ice pop you would split. I would also tell them about the greatest mud pie recipe that I created in my own backyard - with just the precise amount of dirt to water ratio, baking it on a brick in the sun and adding a dandelion garnish.

You see, at the Kid's Table, there is no stress or worry; no anxiety or depression. There are no horrible wars, hatred, or heart break.

Instead, there are endless days of playing in the sun and nights to catch fireflies. There are rainbows to follow and sandcastles to build. There is hide and go seek, lemonade stands, snowmen, and a man in the moon. The holidays are so genuine that your heart bursts with happiness, and you believe above all, that there is actually peace on earth and good will towards men.

So move over kids; I'll be sitting at your table this year because to tell you the truth, I could use a break from being an adult. And besides, I have this great mud pie recipe that I need to share....

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving....Till next time...