Guest Column

This Christmas, I took a break from the drama and posturing at the adult table and found refuge at the kids’ table.

Yearning for the casual banter of innocence, the insight of young wisdom, and the opportunity to hear the thoughts and words of our future, I decided to sit at the kids’ table. Sitting in smaller chairs, closer to the ground, we may be better grounded than in taller, oversized adult chairs, which these days seem a little too tipsy.

The easy game of Connect the Dots yields winks and laughs as we dabble and play with our food. We chatted and giggled about the presents we had opened and those gifts we still hoped to get. I chuckle at the confused looks as we taste the cranberry sauce and smile as the dressing and mashed potatoes are swirled into a tasty mush.

Overhearing the adults discuss their “big people’s topics” as I watch the kids. The toast for “world peace” quickly regressed to biting analogies of the Middle East and Ukraine. The younger ones seem more confused as the voices rise. The “older ones” frown and turn away from the tension, showing some disgust at the hypocrisy and arguments. Turning up my hearing aids just a little, I hear one mumble… “giving aid to one for genocide and taking it away from another fighting for self-defense.” As their heads shook a little, the simple game of hangman took on new meaning. The table returned to the whispers and giggles of youth as a game or two of tic-tac-toe started. I pondered their insight and perspective and lost the hangman game.

The lighthearted snickers and under-the-table poking were interrupted as another bottle of wine was opened for the adults. A hearty toast at their table as we lifted our glasses of water and mimicked them with our silly smiles and googly eyes. The topics at the big people’s table ebbed and flowed about current events, sports, business, and then back to politics. I shook my head and wished they could listen to us at the kid’s table. We were having fun, laughing, and smiling. Their table got louder as abortion and women’s rights became the main topic. Then the epiphany. One of the girls whispers to another… “great, the convicted sex predator wants to protect us whether we like it or not…cringe…” I turned my hearing aids back down, hoping to give them the space they needed and not become the adult at the table.

I thought about what I’d heard at both tables. I wanted to avoid the stress and conflict at the adult table, but I only saw and heard the stress that wafted across the room to the kid’s table. Their young minds are open to so much. Soaking in everything and forming opinions that will drive our world’s future. Too much stress. Too much tension. The heat spilling out of the kitchen to the tables filled with the cornucopia of abundance. We sat there wondering about those with so much less and how fortunate we were. This privileged family has the luxury of having discussions and not worrying about where their next meal is coming from. And yet, these adults don’t realize they may be forming irreversible opinions and generational hate through their terse and tense words.

We, the adults, can impart hope or hate. We can show how to listen and try to understand. It is our choice, and they, the kids, are watching and listening to everything.

My distracted thoughts were interrupted when the youngest leaned over, tapped me, and said, “Knock, knock.” I smiled and thought, “Maybe, just maybe, things will be alright.” “Who’s there?”

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