And I loved it.
Other times, I ate dinner on my lap with the dog as company.
And I knew no better.
Until I sat here:
This was the first family dinner table I ever knew. There used to be a bench down one side where I could squeeze into the space I was so generously offered for a few weeks every summer.
And I couldn't believe it.
There was conversation. And laughter. And time.
It was foreign and odd.
And, from that first summer visit on, I couldn't sit alone with my dog and my chef boyardee without tasting the silence.
Dinners were supposed to be family and time and love, but I didn't know until I shoe-horned my way in.
Now my people sit here:
And there is conversation (so much conversation). And laughter (with some tears). And time (sometimes more than there is space for it).
And they know no better.
Every night I am reminded of that table and that bench - and the family that made room for me.
And I know that I could never know any better.
