When my three boys were little, I made a pact with myself that we would all sit together for dinner every night. As their schedules became busier, our family dinners became more challenging, but we still managed to gather most nights. When I moved in with my fiancé, Charlie, he remodeled his house to accommodate our growing family. I made a point to expand the kitchen and add a banquette area, where we placed a large farm table with a built-in bench on two of its corners. That banquette turned out to be a magical spot in our home. Our evening dinners were filled with laughter, lively banter, loud voices, occasional arguments, tears (usually mine), and often included a few extra kids who became regulars at our dinner table.
I learned from my mother to have elastic walls, as she called them. What she meant was to always make room for more. She was known for taking in kids when we had very little space in our tiny one-bathroom house, but she welcomed those in need of a family into her home and heart. It was usually my youngest son who would spring the last-minute request, “Can a few friends come over?” always adding that they had already eaten dinner because we ate too late. Over time, my son grew to love our later dinners, realizing that it often meant his friends could join us too. I knew to stretch the meals even if they had already eaten, because they always accepted seconds or hadn’t eaten dinner at all.
I grew to love those evening meals, and as my boys got older, went off to college, and then out on their own, I missed sharing meals with loved ones. When my youngest son and Charlie’s son moved out, it took me a while to learn how to cook for two instead of six. Only one of my sons stayed in the Los Angeles area, and he became busy with his career in the film industry, working long hours and then building his own life with his girlfriend. We see them a few times a month, but there’s no longer the routine we once had. My middle son asked if we could set a weekly schedule for everyone to meet for dinner one night, and that comment made me realize how much he missed our family dinners too.
Over the past two years, Charlie and I grew close to a few young women who became like daughters to us through attending Dead and Company shows at the Sphere. One had lost her father several years ago, and more recently, her mother. I understand all too well how difficult it can be to endure such a loss, and I immediately felt a kinship with her. We had already become close before her mother passed away, and by then, she was jokingly calling Charlie and me “Mom” and “Dad,” which we both loved. Another adopted daughter comes from a close-knit family in India but has no immediate family here. We also met her through the Grateful Dead community, and soon she became like a daughter to us as well. Through our first adopted daughter, we befriended one of her friends who also lives nearby and was going to Dead and Company shows with us. Her parents recently moved away from Los Angeles, and she mentioned how much she missed their Sunday family dinners. When my mother passed away, I remember thinking that I was now the person in charge and that I would have to create the magic on holidays and keep the family connected, just as she had seemingly done effortlessly. Between my son asking for weekly dinners and one of our adopted daughters telling me she missed her family dinners, I decided it was time for me to create my own magic.
About a month ago, Charlie and I decided to host Sunday family dinners, which always include my son, his girlfriend, and our three adopted daughters. This is our new chosen family. We extend invitations to others who live nearby and would like to join us for a night in our yard, where we’ll be listening to music, laughing, and chatting about life. I have grown to love these Sunday dinners and the guests we invite who make the effort to come by and join us. I feel like my mother is smiling down from heaven at how I have managed to mimic her motto that all are welcome and the elastic walls theory. At least I hope she would be proud, and if she were still alive, she would be here with me every Sunday, helping to make everyone feel like family
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