Family Dinner Doesn't Happen

I just read another one of those articles espousing the importance of eating dinner together as a family and felt that familiar pang of guilt because we don't do it. I wondered how that is going to affect Nathan that we don't organize ourselves to spend this precious time together and asked myself where we are going wrong. After careful reflection, I think I know.

Maybe, if we didn't let him participate in sports. Those practices and those games take up some valuable time. The time we spend talking on the way to the practices and games, and listening to the successes and failures and talking them through on the way home, would be better spent sitting around a meal discussing - something.

Maybe, if his dad and I didn't put so much emphasis on the importance of him reading every day or require him to take some responsibility with emptying the dishwasher, cleaning up after the dogs, sweeping the walkways, and making his bed, this time could be better spent helping his busy parents with food preparation so we could sit together for dinner.

Maybe, if he didn't spend so much time down the street playing ball, up the street playing capture the flag, or going to the skate park with his friends, he could have more time to help with what needs to be done so we could sit down as a family for dinner.

Maybe, if I spent less time practicing multiplication tables with him and going through his homework and more time planning meals and preparing shopping lists, we would be better organized to have family dinners.

Maybe, if his dad wouldn't spend so much time tossing a football or baseball with him, teaching him to play chess, or reading with him, maybe his dad would have more time to help with all of the planning, shopping, and cooking for the family dinners.

Maybe, if his dad and I got regular jobs with regular hours, our nights and weekends wouldn't be spent answering calls, responding to emails, and meeting clients. We wouldn't have the flexibility to work our schedules around Nathan so he can go to baseball practice or football practice, or be able to go on at least one field trip with him every year, attend all of his parent teacher conferences, go to his recorder and chime choir concerts, share breakfast with him on Muffins for Mom or Donuts for Dad Days, and be as available for the small but important things, but we would have a schedule that would work for having dinner together.

Maybe, if I wouldn't do that silly little morning routine as he's leaving for school of walking him to the door, kissing him on the forehead, and telling him I love him and to have a Brilliant Day, I could take that time to browse the freezer and be ahead of the game for our dinner that night.

Maybe, if we didn't indulge his passion for sports like we do. We would miss seeing his uncanny ability to name off every baseball and football team, and to know their players and their stats. We would miss the moment when his team was playing and his pitcher was pitching and he whispered under his breath, "He's thinking to hard." We wouldn't have that joy of knowing how insightful that was and how proud we are that our 11 year old understands about thinking too much and letting go. We wouldn't have that moment of hope and pride when he watches a football play and says, "This team and that team had the same play and the same thing happen two years ago", and know the part of the brain that has to work to make these connections happen for him will serve him well in his life. We would miss that moment that we surprised him for his 11th birthday with a trip to AT&T Park for his first live baseball game. We would have missed his awe, saying, "I can't believe I'm here", "There's Buster Posey", and "You are the best parents in the world." We would miss all of that but we would have much more time for dinners together.

Maybe, if we would have made him turn off the TV during game 2 of the National League Championship Series, when his Giants were running tight against the Cardinals. We would have missed the excruciating disappointment he felt when the Cardinals took it at the bottom of the 9th with a home run. We would have missed the ranting of specific times and games that Romo pitched a home run. We would have missed his emotional outburst, demanding that Romo go play for the Cardinals and then that childlike belief that his outburst could make it true and he didn't really want it to happen. We would have missed his aha moment when he realized that what he did or said as a reaction to an emotional moment could have long term consequences that he didn't want. We would have missed all that but we would have had dinner together.

Maybe, when I stood in the driveway last weekend watching him go a across the street with his bag over his shoulder for a sleep over with his friend, and I felt overwhelmed with love and pride, I should have been overwhelmed with shame. I rushed to get his dinner ready so he could eat it before he went but I didn't sit down to eat it with him.

Or maybe, just maybe, we will continue to hold him to his responsibilities, indulge his passions, and provide all of the opportunities we are capable of so Nathan can experience an exceptional childhood, and feel no shame or guilt because we don't sit down for family dinners.