The Freshman Table

Sunday is a sacred day for two reasons: the Sabbath and spaghetti. I was brought up with home-cooked meals every day, but Sunday was the day that dad slaved away in the kitchen for the weekly spaghetti (or whichever macaroni we had on hand) and meatballs.



Being at school strips me of a lot of the satisfaction of Sunday dinner. Instead of daily regimented meals, I'm at liberty to go to the dining hall whenever I'd like to eat whatever may be available. There are days in which I am pleasantly surprised at what is offered, yet there are many days where I settle for a salad, sandwich, or even just fruit.


Aside from the decrease in delectability in the food, the one thing I had not realized until I left home was the whole idea of the family dinner. When we sat down at our family table, we were closed off from the world. There was no TV nor answering of the telephones and when we were finished eating we waited for dad to finish and then asked to be excused.


Here at school, we enter a busy dining hall with TVs blaring the latest hip-hop or alternative music videos and choose one of any available table to sit the group we entered with. This is not exactly the scene in which I'm used to sitting down, but I try to make it work.


The one thing I have asked of my dinner partner, which is ritually the same friend and roommate, is that dinner time be respected as it was in my house in the sense that once you sit down at the table, the concentration is on conversation with each other. Though I am myself guilty of cellphone dependence, it was ingrained into my mind that the dinner table was no place for it.


My friend, on the other hand, was initially less than formal about it. Texts were sent and answered and Facebook was checked and updated. This continued until I finally reached a level of comfort in which I could express my overwhelming aversion to this practice.


My "family dinners" at school will never be as they were at the original family dinner table. The food is still less than what qualifies as my dad's delicious cuisine and the ruckus of the dining hall is on a much larger scale of noise than my family's naturally rambunctious voices. But with the commotion of the dining comes the chance for me and my friend to recap the day, discuss plans for tomorrow, or discuss whatever it is we want to get off our chest in the fashion I'm accustomed to. My friend makes sure her last text is sent before she even takes her seat, and the phones are done until we are.


In the college setting, which notoriously lacks privacy and compatibility, something as simple as a hidden cellphone during a meal makes St. John's that much more of a comfortable place. Delayed gratification comes in the form of pasta whenever I return home.