The Kids’ Table

In my family, it was simply known as “The Kids’ Table.” When I was a child and visited my mom’s side of the family, there was a four-by-four-foot card table off to the side of the main table, with seating for me, my brother and my three cousins. On my dad’s side, there wasn’t a Kids’ Table as such – age gaps among the offspring meant it wasn’t possible to cobble together a decent group worthy of its own four legs. So my visits to the maternal side of the family always seemed extra special.

At the card table we had our own salt and pepper shakers (silver!), our own thoughtfully folded napkins, our own tablecloth, and maybe candies, or fall leaves, or paper turkeys, or tiny Christmas ornaments. Just for us! The decorations were not fancy, but they were exclusively ours and appeared dutifully year after year. No doubt the tablecloth was a hand-me-down, stained from many dinners previously enjoyed by the adults, but we relished the joyous moment we walked in and saw the magical set-up.

When my cousins and I were young, we all enjoyed the innocent fun and games around the table. Oh, the silliness: the hiding of vegetables under the edge of our neighbour’s plate, and challenges to each other to eat more than the next! I often won. (I also became known for my pointy elbows and getting in line for firsts and seconds early, somehow ahead of everyone else).

We sometimes growled at each other in primal ways: who had taken too many turns on the swing before dinner, who had received Canadian Tire money from Papa this time, who was chewing with his or her mouth open or otherwise not observing proper manners.

Often I finished first. I’d slide out and, as someone from the Adult Table got up for seconds, sneak into their spot. As much as I loved the Kids’ Table, there was also the allure of the conversation at the Adult Table, the quieter tones, the bigger laughs, the adult clothes and smells, and of course, my mom’s always warm and soft side to lean against when I became sleepy. As I became older, it also meant a glass of wine.

As much as I loved the Kids’ Table, there was also the allure of the conversation at the Adult Table, the quieter tones, the bigger laughs, the adult clothes and smells, and of course, my mom’s always warm and soft side to lean against when I became sleepy.  Illustration by Shelagh Armstrong.

The boys all grew exponentially and their legs tangled underneath the tiny card table, causing tempers to simmer. The little table couldn’t contain us. The age difference between my brother and the rest of us began to show, and he slid up the seating ladder. Conversation became a bit awkward among the remaining four of us – each of us sure we were the coolest. I was moody and artsy, my boy cousins were techy and citified. My cousin Hillary was the sweet sister I didn’t have, but the six-year gap between us continued to yawn until we were both done with our education and travelling.

As my grandparents aged, they were no longer able to host the family dinners. My mom and aunts took over. Eventually, with travel, school, weddings, divorces, cancer and death, the Kids’ Table set-up and attendance declined – to non-existence. We forgot about the napkins and the trinkets. They were packed up or given away when my Nan and Papa died. It wasn’t about the things though, so much as the ritual that was gone.

Recently, however, it has gathered steam again. My cousins live far and wide, but we manage to keep in touch. And when we are all on the same continent, we make a fuss and take pride in sitting at “The Kids’ Table.” For a while, we renamed it “The Employed Table,” but the retirees didn’t think that was very funny.

At the gatherings, two little grandchildren don’t quite fill out a true Kids’ Table, but they have caused a resurrection of pomp and circumstance. Table gifts, decorated cakes, and crackers that go pop and spill out paper hats that crinkle and make us look silly in photographs – it’s all there! We make our dinners using recipe cards handed down from relatives, or we create new ones. Sometimes we invite new friends to share our table and they fill it up with their little ones, their family stories and their dishes.

Amid all the fun and the choruses of “Sit down!” and “Eat your dinner!” the revived rituals remind us of those missing from the festivities, and produce a throb of nostalgia for the long-ago days when we once ruled the Kids’ Table.