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Why Sunday dinner matters
Almost every time I tell Dad goodbye, see you in a few days, he makes a simple request: Maybe you can eat lunch with me soon.
I try to visit and share a meal with him at least once a month, more, if possible. It didn't dawn on me until last Friday, while he made his way through a plate of beef tips and noodles and I picked through a salad, why sharing mealtime still matters.
Sunday dinner at our house was a thing. A big thing. A fried chicken and mashed potatoes kind of thing. Or pot roast and green beans kind of thing. Or if our grandparents visited, a trip to the Lamp Post Cafe - great Itali...
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