The Kid's Table

Although my holiday memories are mostly warm and fuzzy, my mother reminded me recently of one thing I hated: the kid's table. As the oldest grandchild (on my mother's side of the family,) I was convinced I belonged at the adult table long before I was an adult. I have no idea why I considered the kid's table such an insult, but I did. It's a little like being told you're a second-class citizen.

And yet, I've done it myself with dinner parties, holidays, etc. Our next-door neighbors have one daughter the same age as the baby and an older daughter. Many, many dinners have involved the adults in the dining room and the kids at a separate table.

Several years ago, we were in Mississippi visiting the oldies. I have photos of the tow-headed boys (the grandsons) sitting around their kitchen table. The granddaughters got their own kid's table in the living room.

When the baby graduated from high school earlier this year, we had a gathering in our back yard. In an attempt to create enough seating for everyone, I scattered tables throughout our patio and yard. No one had assigned seats.

I looked up at one point and realized that the baby, our neighbors' children and several of our friends' children had created their own kid's table.

At this point in my life, there are many times I wish I would be invited to sit at the kid's table.