DINING

          Whoever showed up in the kitchen at dinner time was served by my mother who invariably stood while she had one hand on what she was eating and the other hand serving. I have a vague memory of what I actually ate.  Often it was something cold, like bananas and sour cream. There was never a salad, except for a bowl of grated tomato (the original gazpacho). The only vegetables we were served came out of a can and most likely were peas and carrots. Oh yes, every Monday we had spinach and mashed potatoes which was accompanied by a buttered roll. The prize was the chocolate pudding with cream floating on top.

          While it was unusual to be joined by my older sister or brother, my father always seemed be present at our small kitchen table when I sat down. Every dinner his meal was the same, potted meat in a gravy (in Yiddish gedempt fleysh) with potatoes. A bottle of seltzer had to be present, as well as a jar of Joe’s sour pickles from Jennings Street or “there would be hell to pay.”

          Eating was never dining in my house. It was just something to get through.  Dining was in Phyllis Garelick’s house. So, after my hurried meal, I would race across the hall from my building 1215 Simpson Street to our joining sister building 1211 Simpson Street to get to Phyllis' third floor apartment. I would timidly and gently knock at her door, always to be answered by Pearl. Although she was a relative, she was basically hired help to clean, cook serve and take care of Phyllis because her mother was emotionally challenged. At the door, Pearl would softly whisper, “Ethyl, the family is dining now but if you are very quiet, you can sit on the couch.”  It was located in their large dining room. The family consisting of Mr. Garelick (still clad in his business suit), Blanche and Larry, both students at City College and Phyllis. They were assembled around a huge dining room table which was covered with a white linen tablecloth and contained matching china dishes, shiny silverware and sparking glasses. They were dining. They were conversing. They were discussing. They were laughing. They were a family dining!!! I sat in awe as I quietly rifled through their liberal PM newspapers. My house only had The Forward, a newspaper completely in Yiddish.

          This was a family that read an English newspaper, sent children to college and shared thoughts, ideas and humor around a dining room table. I’d like to grow up to be part of a family that dines together in a dining room around a dining room table.

Ethyl H.

Apr 2020