Dinner Table Memoir

By Maris Costa

 

I’ve had the honor of being present at many dinner tables throughout my life. I first started in a high chair, limited to the motion of my flailing arms sloppily throwing food on my face; giggling at my surroundings and yet untouched by the series of events life would throw my way. I was next promoted to the dinner table at my grandparents’ house, where I would be eating for the first six years of my life. Smooth granite counter-tops still rush me with feelings of nostalgia, along with soft chairs that sink when you sit in them. I recall my grandmother’s warm embraces, her loving nature, natural maternal instincts, and how quick she was to put me in my place. Superficially, my grandfather was more stern, but with a heart full of pure love on the inside, he would stop at nothing to ensure his family was taken care of.

My dinner table moved to Marlboro after my mom and step dad decided to move in together. Those were the best dinners. To this day, I have not felt the stability of a regular “sit down and eat dinner” type of family. That dinner table was abruptly shattered before my eyes when my mom and dad decided to split up; the separation was far from amicable.

The next dinner table I’d be eating at was my Aunt’s, who allowed us to make a home out of her house for the next five years while my mom worked her way through nursing school while simultaneously working part time at the hospital. These five years were a crucial part of my life. I faced many life-altering events yet still persevered despite my young age. Inevitably, I often find myself dwelling on my early adolescence, but over time I have come to  realize that my childhood simply strengthened my character and gave me independence. Meal times at my Aunt’s house were completely arbitrary, mostly us serving ourselves when we came home. Time spent together usually consisted of exchanging news of our days that represented how bad our luck seemed to be.

After my mom finished nursing school, we decided to get our own place. Solitude is not something I was used to at my Aunt’s house, but I’ve come to find solace in solitude over time. My mom and I don’t usually eat dinner together due to conflicting schedules and my moving away to school. My mom means the world to me, sometimes I wish we ate dinner together more often.

 

Maris’s Bio:

My graduating year is December 2021, my major is Evolutionary Anthropology, my minor is Psychology, and I’m from Woodbridge New Jersey!

Maris wrote this piece as response to a prompt in her Intro to Creative Writing Course, which she took during the fall 2109 semester.