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The Great Divide
drop-in centre canada
(Jan.29.10)
Downstairs in my house is a place that my husband and son inhabit: Each has his own TV and recreation area at opposite ends of the long finished basement. They call it the “man-room.”
I regret buying the brown, material-covered recliner chair for my son; the one he lounges in, an Archie Bunker-style chair. He waits for me to serve him his dinner on an end table nearby. The television roars and he laughs so hard he does not hear me say, “This is not right. You need to come upstairs to eat.” But then I put his dinner on the end table and walk away. My stomach flips and flops from shame.
When we moved into this house a year and a half ago, my husband and I foolishly allowed our son to eat downstairs in his lounger -- just until we bought a TV for the family room off of the kitchen. Why did we think it necessary that we have a TV upstairs? Learning to eat at the table and to use manners to interact are important life skills. I yearn to embrace a new family tradition.
The few formal Sunday dinners I have achieved in our home have proven to be successful bonding times for our family; that is, once I convince my son that his presence at the table is not optional.
More often, my husband works late and I sit alone at the table to eat my meal. My pup sits on the floor, her eyes glued to my fork in case I drop a crumb. My cat sits on the cupboard island willing me to feed him.
The "man-room," where my little boy lounges in his chair, seems so far away. I eat quickly and then wander downstairs to play with him.
Keri Michaud lives with her husband and seven-year-old son, in Mississauga, Ontario. A freelance creative non-fiction writer, she chronicles motherhood. Her essay, “Sick,” is published at www.themomoirproject.com.
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