The Kitchen Table

Creative Nonfiction

            The kitchen table in my home is very important. It’s a large, dark brown, wood table that seats six comfortably, but we’ve squeezed more�"you find a way for those you love. Everyday, three meals are eaten at it, meals are prepared on it, papers are written on it, discussions about the future are had at it, jokes are cracked at it. Sometimes it’s covered in stuff and sometimes it’s clean with a simple centerpiece for decoration. The wood is chipped and scratched in some spots, and other spots are stained. The four legs that hold up the table are very sturdy and for years we have trusted, without a doubt, it to hold up our daily tasks.

            The four legs support more than just the table�"they support our life. And this life needs all four legs to remain stable. Unfortunately, one of our life’s four foundations broke about seven months ago. Little did we know, this leg had been weak�"cracked�" for years and finally gave into the pressure and collapsed. The other three didn’t have the strength to stay up. Just as a table would fall to the ground, so did our life. The other legs collapsed with the weak one bringing down the table and everything it held. All the happy memories, all of the good times, all of the trust, the stability, the life we thought we had and had so desperately fought to keep�"it was all thrown to the floor in a tragic demise.

            That weak and cracked leg was my father. Lies and cheating had crept in and torn him apart. For years before we even knew; he wasn’t my father, he wasn’t my brother’s father, and he wasn’t my mother’s husband. He was someone else’s. The initial crash was unbearable�"we were blindsided. We had been the “perfect family.” Dad goes to work to provide for the family, Mom stays home and home schools the kids; we ate dinner together every night, and went to church together every Sunday. How were we living such a sweet lie?

            Every memory I had of my father turned bitter. I didn’t want to see him, talk to him or have anything to do with him. He threw us away like a bag of unwanted trash. But why? What was wrong with us? Were we not good enough? Did we not love enough? No. We were fine, we loved, we were good, we weren’t living a lie. He was. It was no fault of ours that he was ungrateful for what he had and that it took loosing us to see it. However, you will suffer the consequences for your actions, and, unfortunately, those around you feel those consequences too.

            To this day the three of us are picking ourselves up again. A table is not stable on three legs but it can be balanced. It may take time and patience to pick up the mess and place everything back on the table with care, making sure to position the memories, the emotions, and the actions so as not to knock yourself down yet again. Its difficult at first, the mess seems irrevocable, but you know that working together, the table will stand again. And again three meals will be eaten at it, meals will be prepared on it, papers will be written on it, discussions about the future will be had at it, jokes will be cracked at it. Sometimes it’ll be covered in stuff and sometimes it’ll be clean with a simple centerpiece for decoration. The wood is chipped and scratched in some spots, and other spots are stained but you know those imperfections are what give it character and separate it from all the other tables, so you build off of each other and move forward. Maybe even someday you’ll rebuild that missing leg, maybe not with a person of the past, or a person of the future. Maybe not with a new home, or a new job, but with the love, trust and strength you have for each other.

 

Reviews

[A. Amos]

Compelling and enjoyable read. Well done!