Sunday Suppers: My Story
I’ve always loved Sundays.
No matter how hectic life can be, Sunday is the one day a week where everyone can relax, recharge, and reconnect.
My typical Sunday growing up usually unfolded like this– Rise early, get dressed in our Sunday best and head off to church. Surviving that, it’s off to the store, grab the uber-gigantic Sunday Edition of The Star Tribune along with something sweet for brunch at Grandpa and Grandma’s– Cream cheese, poppy seed coffee cake usually being the go to. After getting our fill of coffee cake and the Sunday comics, Grandma and mom retired to the kitchen as I joined my Dad and Grandpa to root on the Purple and Gold. We watched Cris Carter make it look easy, Johnny Randle make it look fun, and the Vikings usually making it look exceedingly difficult.
Usually around the seventh major Vikings blunder and my Dad switching to M*A*S*H reruns for the third time, a wonderful smell would begin to permeate every room of the house. The magical scent of a soup, a sauce, or a side dish slowly simmering away in the kitchen always reminded us neanderthals in the living room– yelling at the TV– that the world’s not coming to an end. Win or lose, we still get dinner.
The family favorites were always the comfort foods– Swedish meatballs with mashed potatoes and gravy. Turkey and cranberry stuffing. Pot roast with all the trimings. Lasagna with meat sauce. Homemade chicken noodle soup. Baked cod with extra butter. With Grandpa being a full-blooded and proud Norweigen, there was always herring, pickles, and of course lefse (brown sugar, please). Additionally, having a full-blooded and proud German Grandmother, there was no passing on dessert. Apple pie and ice cream was her usual weapon of choice.
Dinner conversation would be casual yet jovial. Talk about recent/future trips of my Grandparents as the criss-crossed the country together in their golden years. Grandpa wondering why that last B+ on my report card wasn’t the A that was expected. Dad regailing me with sorrid stories about my dear ‘ole Grandma from her teen years (but of course that was different back then, “it was during the war”). No matter how busy we were during the week with work, school, sports, or life– Sunday was always a day for us to reflect and remember what truly matters– Good family enjoying a good meal while cheering diehardedly for a slightly above-mediocre football team.
Times change. Loved ones move on to a better place while new members are welcomed in. Relationships, geography, and schedules all shift over time– The only constant ever being change. Despite this, I pray that Sunday Suppers are a tradition that sticks as my Wife and I build a family of our own.
I can’t wait to ask why my grandson’s B+ isn’t that A we expect.