Friday, March 29, 2024

I don’t consider the dreaded ‘card table’ the ‘good old days’

Posted

FROM MY FRONT PORCH

Sam Houston is the publisher of the Hood County News. He is also an actor, author, playwright, performer and entertainment producer/promoter.

We all have memories about Thanksgiving. Some folks recall times spent with family or maybe the culinary specialties one associates with the holiday, or even the travel associated to going to Grandma’s house. For me the Thanksgiving holiday will always conjure up memories of the dreaded “card table.”

Once upon a time, some genius engineer decided to create a contraption that became known far and wide as the “card table.” In my youth, people’s homes were smaller than those of today, and they needed furniture that would fold up and slide into a closet or under a bed when not in use. The “card table” was poorly manufactured, wobbly, and specifically designed to be uncomfortable.

When you sat beneath it, your knee would naturally hit the corner leg of the table, causing it to shake uncontrollably and thus spilling the contents of the glasses and dishes that were sitting upon it. The “card table” was a stop-gap for when additional table space was needed; something to be brought out from hiding when necessary. Customarily, this meant Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner.

When families got together in groups of 10 or 12 or more, the dining room table was simply not large enough to accommodate all the guests. Decisions needed to be made, usually by the matriarch, as to where people got to sit for the Thanksgiving meal — either at the dining room table, or sentenced to the purgatory of eating in the living room at the card table.

As a child, even hearing the words “card table” had a painful and dark meaning. It was a rite of passage as one grew older, and often a source of shame and introversion. Generally, this old-fashioned form of social distancing was reserved for the children of the family, which meant I would sit with my sister and a couple of my cousins away from the adults who were comfortably pulled up to the dining room table.

Customarily, we children would have our plates of food made and brought to us, while we sat patiently at the card table. As we ate, we could see and hear the adults talking in the other room and realized we were not part of the festivities, and truly a lower species of animal who had been banished to a distant enclave.

Perhaps when I was 6 or 7, the card table was OK. I could easily fit under the table, and it was sort of fun to have some time with my cousins. Being separated from our folks, we could giggle, cut up, and do all the things small children do when they are free from the constraints of parental authority. By the time I reached the age of 10, the childishness of earlier years had lost its charm and I began to ascertain I had been selectively chosen to be removed from the inner sanctum of the family. When I became a teenager at 13, I had learned to dread the “card table” and felt like sitting with the “little ones” was an assault on my very manhood, and my self-esteem was taking a beating from which It might never recover. I complained to my mother, to be told, “You will sit wherever I tell you to sit, and you will enjoy it,” which only further confirmed my feelings of inadequacy.

Happily, the holiday event finally occurred where I was seated at the dining room table. I still remember the excitement as I took my place with the adults. It was an important day in my life and of the same significance as my first day of school, or kissing my first girl. Old Uncle Jack had passed over the summer, and since I was the oldest boy, Grandma thought it was only right I should take his place.

Finally, I could sit and eat and hear what was discussed among the adults, learn their secrets and understand their ways. I could enjoy a meal without the plate moving about the surface it was sitting on because some little cousin was kicking the table leg. It may have been the best Thanksgiving I ever experienced. I must admit, I still glanced into the living room and could see the “kids” seated there. I vowed I would never consider their plight to be the “good old days.”

Thought for the day: After a good dinner, one can forgive anybody for just about anything, even one’s own family.

Until next time

sam@hcnews.com | 817-573-7066, ext. 260