We Have Enough

Dad remembers when his parents bought their first car in 1952. He was 5 years old. Up until that time, they went 7 miles to town on their tractor with a homemade trailer. It would max out at about 10 mph.  The family would load up cotton from their 40 acre farm in Springhill and take it to Richardson’s Cotton Gin in Franklinton, Louisiana. 

I’ve heard bits and pieces of these stories over the years, like all the kids having to pick a bag of cotton when they got off the school bus. Each one of them had to pick a bag before they could go home and get a snack. Daddy was the youngest boy and was spoiled by his sisters. Most of the time, Aunt Nellie picked Dad’s bag for him. 

The poverty they lived in was more significant than I realized but Dad didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. “Everyone was poor back then,” he explained. He recalled all the houses being off the ground because no one could afford a cement slab. The pine floors would have a few knot holes and that’s where you swept the trash, no need for a dustpan.  The houses off the ground also provided a cool place to store potatoes from the garden. 

But my favorite story is about sharing dinner on Sundays after church. MawMaw would ring the neck of a few chickens and cook fresh corn and butterbeans from the garden. A big crowd would gather … the preacher, family and friends. “They ate every piece of that chicken. And the adults fixed their plate first and then the kids,” said Dad. 

There was always room at their table. Dad recalled times during the week when PawPaw may bring someone home that needed a meal. MawMaw would get aggravated and claim she had not cooked enough. “Awwww, Mary … we have enough,” PawPaw would say. And somehow they always did. 

Dad’s upbringing sheds so much light on who he is and why he does certain things. I’m so thankful for the time we’ve had together lately so that I can hear the stories and learn the “why.” Like why did we always have six extra jars of Blue Plate Mayonnaise in our house. Because that’s what they liked and when it went on sale MawMaw bought the max allowed. Why does dad invite complete strangers to eat when he cooks outside? Because his dad invited anyone that needed a meal. PawPaw couldn’t afford the finer things but he had food to share. Dad’s love language to this day is sharing food. It’s why I give away eggs and plant things in my garden that I don’t even eat. Sharing Food = Love.

My parents raised me to always better myself. They wanted more for me than what they had. I’m thankful for that and it’s what I want for my children. However, what has hit me in this time of reflection is that we still yearn for something in common that keeps us connected as a family. We all want to belong. 

Today, Dad farms in good khakis and a diamond studded Rolex. But if you open his truck door, I guarantee you will find a 5 gallon bucket full of vegetables and eggs to give away when he passes a friend or sees someone in need . And today, I have no less than four jars of Blue Plate in the pantry even though I can pay full price for mayonnaise. We spend our time together talking about citrus trees and watering systems in the chicken coop, something I’m sure his dad couldn’t even imagine. 

These are the things that make me smile and make me feel connected to my family, an interconnection. I want career success for my children. I pray for the women and men they will marry. I also hope they have a few chickens to remind them of where they came from. I pray that we talk about more than just “things” and work and pushing for success defined by the world. I hope no matter how much money is in their bank account, they will make room at their table to share a meal with someone. And when they do, I hope they share these stories of a long history of sharing food in our family. There Is Room at our table.