Sunday Scribblings - Adult

The prompt over at Sunday Scribblings is “adult.”

Kid’s Table
We’re having a big family gathering, a circling of the tribe, as it were.
Relatives are everywhere, talking, laughing sneaking sips of homemade wine out of plastic cups since gramps hasn’t imbibed in years. Cousins I’ve not seen since last summer slam screen doors. There’s the bachelor uncles who smell funny. I meet a nephew I didn’t even know I had.
Dinner is a conglomeration of what the farm has to offer; a suckling pig, cold fried chicken, corn, salads of all measure and the tea that’s been brewed in the sun in a ginormous clear glass crock.
As the time to eat draws near, there’s instant tension.
We’ve added to leafs to grammie’s ancient oak farmer’s table, brought out all the chairs from various rooms. There won’t be enough seating at the thing, and suspicious eyes begin to dart.
Especially since several wobbly card tables have been arranged in the family room, as well as the screened-in porch.
Grammie doesn’t subscribe to the kid’s table theory.
Seats at the big table are handed out with no general rhyme or reason, although my father says grammie does has a system.
I’m hoping the thank you I crafted for the $13 birthday check stand out in grammie’s fading memory.
It does.
I’m seated near the head of the table, on the prime left corner, since I’m the only leftie in the clan (and nobody tolerates bony elbows in their face while gnawing on grammie’s fried chicken). I feel the hot stares on my back.
That’s when I feel the first of several barrages of spring peas hit. Someone’s shooting hot peas, one at a time, at my neck.
And they’re scoring direct hits.
It’s my father.
There’s a devilish look in his eye, a playful smile on his lips.
He’s jammed into a tiny folding chair surrounded by the youngest children, some of them drinking milk out of cups with lips and spouts.
The bombardment continues.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
“Robert, one more pea finds its way to this boy and you’ll be eating cobbler in the corn crib,” grammie says without looking in his direction.
I turn my head slightly so dad can see and blow him a little kiss.

8 comments:

Dee Martin said...

I love the picture you have drawn here, and even more - the unusual twist on "the kids table". Dad being the one to shoot peas from the kids table makes me want to sit there again myself! Well done!

quin browne said...

well, i don't care to sit at the kids table ever again (come to think of it, i've not sat at a dinner table for a meal i've cooked in decades)... this was a nice cool memory on a hot summer sunday, thom.

Uncle E said...

Thought you were going to go somewhere else with that prompt, Thom. Glad you went here, though. Nicely done!

Old Grizz said...

Obviously, your dad is someone I would enjoy being friends with. As usual, a good story written by a pro.

Serena Shay said...

Excellent!! Oh man the kids table, brings back irritating memories for sure!! I love the pea flinging...what a dad!

Stan Ski said...

Like father, like son...i thought I got my mischief from my kids...

Hampers said...

Nice blog. Enjoyed going through it. Keep it up the good work. Cheers :)

missalister said...

Oh man, Thom, this was a hoot! And you drew it everclear. Went in clear, came out 190 proof full of the dickens. I can see that man stuffed into that mini folding chair, a grown man acting appropriately for lil darlin’ hell. Bravo! And I just cruised your site after being gone with the wind… You’re looking good all over, man : )