Family Dinner
English 280- Essay #2- Family Dinner Essay
November 4, 2010
On weekdays, at approximately 5:30 p.m., I always knew to listen for the sound of the keys rattling as my father attempted to unlock the door leading into the house from the garage. The moment he walked through the door carrying his briefcase after a long day of work signaled to our family that it was time to make our way towards the kitchen for dinner. A neatly set kitchen table greeted each member of my family, and the sights and sounds of smiling faces and continuous chatter soon followed. It was an unspoken tradition, shared between my mother, father, brother, two sisters and myself, to have an early dinner, typically at 6:00 p.m. We each put what were involved with to the side and we met at the dinner table to enjoy the best meal of the day. Walking into the kitchen, I often times saw my mother putting the finishing touches on the meal that she prepared for her family, not only for nutrition, but for unity and love. Taking the meat out of the oven or straining freshly cooked noodles; both meant the same thing to us, she loved us and wanted us to enjoy the meal that brought us together every night throughout our childhood. The aroma makes its way through my nostrils and warms my senses even before reaching the kitchen. Nothing compares to my mother’s homemade cooking, and my family tends to be extremely spoiled because a variety of fresh, delicious meals are available for us to eat almost every day of the week. As I approach the rectangular table surrounded by eight chairs, I see six place mats with six sets of silverware, six napkins, and six dinner plates waiting for their time of use. My siblings and I took turns setting the table and this contribution to our nightly family feast served as a beacon of unity to my parents. I placed my fork properly to the left of the plate, perfectly centered on top of the napkin. To the right of the plate sits the knife and spoon with a
November 4, 2010
On weekdays, at approximately 5:30 p.m., I always knew to listen for the sound of the keys rattling as my father attempted to unlock the door leading into the house from the garage. The moment he walked through the door carrying his briefcase after a long day of work signaled to our family that it was time to make our way towards the kitchen for dinner. A neatly set kitchen table greeted each member of my family, and the sights and sounds of smiling faces and continuous chatter soon followed. It was an unspoken tradition, shared between my mother, father, brother, two sisters and myself, to have an early dinner, typically at 6:00 p.m. We each put what were involved with to the side and we met at the dinner table to enjoy the best meal of the day. Walking into the kitchen, I often times saw my mother putting the finishing touches on the meal that she prepared for her family, not only for nutrition, but for unity and love. Taking the meat out of the oven or straining freshly cooked noodles; both meant the same thing to us, she loved us and wanted us to enjoy the meal that brought us together every night throughout our childhood. The aroma makes its way through my nostrils and warms my senses even before reaching the kitchen. Nothing compares to my mother’s homemade cooking, and my family tends to be extremely spoiled because a variety of fresh, delicious meals are available for us to eat almost every day of the week. As I approach the rectangular table surrounded by eight chairs, I see six place mats with six sets of silverware, six napkins, and six dinner plates waiting for their time of use. My siblings and I took turns setting the table and this contribution to our nightly family feast served as a beacon of unity to my parents. I placed my fork properly to the left of the plate, perfectly centered on top of the napkin. To the right of the plate sits the knife and spoon with a