A parable of today
A parable is a story, taken from life, illustrating some moral or philosophical truth. Jesus used parables to teach about the reign of God. Today’s column is a parable of sorts. At least, that’s the goal. You’ll have to tell me if it works or not.
My father, rest his soul, was the middle of seven children—all boys. On the other hand, I was an only child. I’m certain there’s some connection between those two realities. I once overheard someone ask my father what he’d do if he’d had seven children. He replied, and I think I’m quoting accurately here, “I’d get them all fighting and walk away.”
OK, so that’s the kind of guy he was. But that’s just to set up the parable.
My wife and I built a family of not one or seven, but five children. Anyone who has come from a large family knows there are certain to be disagreements, disputes, upsets and even the occasional free-for-all. Those episodes aren’t what should define the family, rather how they are handled.
While they were growing up, our kids, surely not unlike yours, did their share of values-testing, of challenging the rules and even, on occasion, going a lot further than we parents believed they should. This, naturally, resulted in “discussions.”
My wife and I always tried, as best we could, to keep those arguments—and the resulting “discussions”—away from the meal table. That’s not to say the situations weren’t dissected and minutely examined. They were—often loudly and with some rancor—but it happened away from the place where we came together to renew that which made us a family.
The family table was a time to reinforce the understanding that we shared more things—more love—than the things which occasionally separated us. (Yes, we had a tradition that anything—and I mean anything—could be discussed at mealtime, but we didn’t allow the meal to become a place to act out of disagreements over values.)
I can’t say it always worked. Nor can I say that all the values my wife and I hold as important were passed on without exception, without diminution. But most seem to have been. At least the important ones.
The family table was the place to be loved, even in the midst of a disagreement. Because that’s what defines family.
Arguments at the dinner table, when they did happen, were disruptive and painful. And there were some meals where a child—and in one case, yours truly—didn’t sit with the family. I remember these situations—and the resolve it gave me never to let it happen again.
Sometimes, though, it was apparent that one or another of us really only wanted to provoke a fight at the dinner table. Maybe it was over some perceived injustice, but often it was just to have a fight, to create a separation and challenge the unity that we sought to achieve. Sometimes, I realize sadly, we’re all a little like my father.
Parable also need to be explained. At least Jesus often chose to explain their meanings with his followers.
When we wouldn’t let our children fight with us at the table, it wasn’t because we didn’t love them ... oh, but we did. But the table was not the place for battling over values; it was the place to know that they were loved. And to know that even fights would not destroy the love.
The kids are on their own now. I suspect that, sometimes, the values they live with aren’t exactly what I would hope and pray for. They’re always welcome at home, but I still don’t want us fighting around the table.
Tom Sheridan
Editor and General Manager
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