-Isms

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 Italian food - kind of thing.

It didn't matter if it was the four of us or if extended relatives dropped in, Sunday dinner was designated family time, sacred moments where we connected and reconnected, especially as life became more hectic as each year passed.

Maybe Sunday dinner reminds him of days gone by; Mom creating a masterpiece in the kitchen, extended family visits, simpler times and vanishing youth. Maybe he's making the request to combat loneliness.

Or, maybe he's craving Casey's beef, black olive and mushroom pizza. Last time I brought that for lunch, he ate three pieces. And a brownie sundae.

Honestly, the day of the week doesn't matter, either. Sometimes, I make the trek to Battle Creek to eat breakfast with Dad on Friday mornings and return to the office ready for work. Other times, I'll make my usual Wednesday late afternoon visit and we'll share dessert before he heads to the dining hall for the main course.

I tried to continue the Sunday dinner tradition when I joined the parenthood ranks. Ask my children and they will let you know, when they grew up, Sunday brunch was a big thing at our place. A waffles with homemade strawberry syrup and bacon and fresh fruit kind of thing, served once we returned home from church.

Sometimes my parents or grandparents joined us. Afterward, the kids would run around the farm, imaginations in full gear creating games or going on scavenger hunts, while the adults would hang out and chat about events of the upcoming week or politics or family things. The topic didn't really matter, and neither did the food, because the key ingredients were us and togetherness.

I'd love to return to the Sunday dinner tradition, the house filled with our kids and grandkids and conversation and family time. A baked ham with pineapple rings and mashed potatoes kind of thing. A lasagna and homemade cheesecake kind of thing. A Hi-Way Mart pizza and s'mores for dessert kind of thing.

But, there's travel time and work and other activities and the general rush of life we all encounter that doesn't give us much time.

It's more than a meal. It's the memories we make as we gather around the table.