I was raised in a old Victorian-style house on the outskirts of Boston by two Wasp parents who were both university professors. At dinner we often spoke politely about our day or about world affairs or politics. For example, would economic sanctions be effective in ending apartheid in South Africa? Or, was President Nixon going to resign? That kind of stuff.
On Sundays my Mom made up a big batch of waffles and we all sat at the dining room table and ate them with maple syrup on top. My father would usually take the front section of the New York Times and my mother the Week in Review. We kids were left to flip through the Magazine or the Book Review. Occasionally, between bites of syrupy waffles, my parents would get in a slightly heated debate on some hot topic like how to solve the problem of famine in Ethiopia, but I don’t think they ever raised their voices.
Oh, it is not that we were the perfectly polite, intellectual family. Oh, no. But our heated arguments were usually at breakfast and over more crucial issues. For example, if anyone finished off the Cheerios before my sister got to the table, they got verbally blasted. I don’t like Cheerios, so I was safe, but boy did my brother Stephen get it a couple of times. Then there were the morning arguments over who would walk our dog, Loki.
The years passed and then one day along came “the intruder”. Yes, that would be Gustavo, my future husband who I dragged up to the Cape Cod home of my step-father for a Christmas dinner. The extended family was seated at a long candle-lit table enjoying a big turkey dinner eager to get to know my new Italian fiance’, Gustavo.
A little aside about Gustavo. He loves to speak, he loves to argue, he loves to talk and gesticulate, he loves to be the center of attention and he especially loves to provoke. Fortunately, he too is a university professor so he can go perform for his students every day. It can get a little tedious at home.
So there we were at the table and my charming new Italian fiance’ was seated next to my tough-as-nails grandmother, Virgina Pinney. Someone, unwisely, started a discussion about gun control. Now, views about guns often depend where you are in the United States. In Texas, people want their guns, in Massachusetts, most people are against guns.
Generally, in my family home, gun control was something we could all agree on. Until Gustavo got there. Now Gustavo might have found an ally in my step-father who was the best sharpshooter in his army unit and always kept a rifle hidden away in his cabin in Maine just in case a rabid bear showed up. But my step-father is a true Yankee and would probably rather wrestle with a Maine Moose than raise his voice at the dinner table.
Gustavo who has never owned a gun in his life, was vigorously defending liberal sales of guns to all Americans. My brother took him on and the debate began heating up as Gustavo started an intense, loud and passionate defense of guns.
Suddenly my grandmother grabbed is arm and said, “PASQUALE, we don’t raise our voices like that at the dinner table in this household.” Gustavo said it felt like someone had put a tourniquet on his arm and that if he had continued he would have lost all blood to his hand. Silence ensued.
“Grandma, his name is Gustavo, Pasquale is your dentist,” I piped up from the other end of the table.
“Gwen, how about passing GUSTAVOOOOO some potatoes,” my mother demanded.
The potates were passed, the crisis averted.
Now the reason I have brought all this up is because my mother sent me an article from the April 29th Sunday New York Times Styles Section (she still reads the “Week in Review” and the Front Page first) titled “Table Talk: The New Family Dinner”.
It examines how different families pass the time at the dinner table. Reading the article I learned that Michelle and Barack Obama use “the thorn and the rose” dinnertable conversation technique. Each person seated at the table describes the best and their worse moments of the day. How civilized.
So fast-forward 20 years from the tourniquet moment. I am now married to Gustavo, living in Rome and we have three children ages 17, 14, and 12. Can anyone guess what might happen at our dinnertable if we tried “the thorn and the rose strategy”.
Let’s just put it this way. We would never get past the first thorn or the first rose because we would all be spouting our opinions and arguing about that. It is the Italian way and I have adapted.
A British friend of mine recently told me about a lovely, young Irish woman who is taking an Italian language course for beginners in Rome. She has just moved to Rome to be with her fiance and spent Easter weekend with him and his family.
I don’t want to get carried away with stereo-types, but in general, I would say the Irish don’t shy away from a rowdy meal and lively conversation. I would hazard a guess that the Irish dinnertime conversations are closer to the Italian style than, let’s say, the Finnish. Nevertheless, the young Irish woman, who didn’t speak fluent Italian said she spent the weekend cowering at the table as the discussions, debates and conversations roared on around her. When she got back to her apartment, she got a bottle of wine and a good book and locked herself in the bedroom. She said she felt much better after polishing off the entire bottle of wine in silence.
Still, as a Mamma, I would argue whether the conversation is civilized or ferocious, the important point is to eat together as a family. For better or worse, it is usually a learning experience.
Darn straight, don’t you dare polish off those cheerios!
Actually, for many others our meals were unusually lively. My husband, Tom, says he was shocked the first meal he had with us. He claims everyone was talking at once and he couldn’t get a word in.
Funny how we remember things.
. . no arguing with that, then!
Your grandmother was one of the best people I have ever known. I can easily picture you all sitting around that table in Yarmouth. Dinner together and with conversation is most important. How do families manage now with all the sports schedules? Oh for the good old days on Otis Street.
Hi Anne — great to hear from you. I agree, oh for the good old days on Otis Street. It is hard to manage family dinners with all the sport schedules and kid’s activities, but I must say it is a top priority for Italians and I think it is a good one. Yes, I am sure you can imagine all of us at the dinnertable in Yarmouthport and my Grandmother Pinney –lively tough cookie that she was, keeping “pasquale” in line. Wish she were still with us.
Hysterical! Pasquale vs. Gustavo! I remember my parents & grandparents arguments very well, and they weren’t just at the dinner table.Even after I married & had kids, we always had noisy dinners with lots of loud talk & opinion. One of kids went to dinner at her DUTCH friends home. She shared with me how QUIET the dinner was! Nobody said anything more than pass the potatoes!
Hi Barbara– I agree that it is much more fun to have lively dinnertable conversation and debates than a silent, glum meal. So three cheers for the vociferous Italians!
As I wipe the tears from my eyes I am fondly remembering our family dinners. Seven children, five of which were boys always made things lively. My father, another intellectual albeit quite conservative, loved to “debate”. I being the eldest tried in vain to find a topic I could hold my own in and possibly win. I came home from high school one day with what I thought the ultimate winning hand. The priest had begun an interesting topic in religion class that day that I was sure would take my father off guard. I listened carefully to his facts and reasonings, preparing for the sparring at dinner that evening. Finally, a topic my father may not be an expert in. As I waited, antsy with excitement for the perfect moment, I blurted out “guess what we learned today? There is no such thing as a miracle! It was all just mass hallucinations!” there was no discussion at all. My father got up, went to the phone and called someone, probably the Vatican we kids thought. I was horrified the next day when I was taken out of religion class and put in my younger sister’s class. And very soon after the priest was removed from the school. I lost the argument and received a healthy helping of Catholic guilt.
Love this post!
I can’t believe it! What a hilarious story. I love it! I wish I had been a fly on the wall at that family dinner. And here you were just trying to show your Dad that you were capable of taking him on in debate. It is such a sweet/funny story. Love getting your comments!
P.S. Cheerios are my all time favorite! The old fashioned plain ones. Oh the memories!
The plain Cheerios are the one my sister Gwen loves too. We better make sure you two are never sharing the box at the breakfast table together. It could be dangerous.
So funny and yes true. I understand the idea of adapting to an Italian family. When I first visited my husbands family I told him off for yelling at his Mum in Italian, he looked astonished “We’re just talking” was his reply “Don’t worry you’ll get used to it” and I have. I really only notice how loud my Italian family is when I go home and spend time with my own very Aussie family who also discuss the day at the dinner table (Mum rules the conversation). My own family reacted to Salvatore with a sense of shock that has never lessened even after 16 years together, I have learned to live in two worlds, my Italian and Australian ones. Our children of course are all passion and spirit which causes untold drama with school life…another story.
ciao for now
lisa x
Ciao Lisa — We really have had some similar experiences. Like you, I would say my children are all passion and spirit– and sometimes high drama. You must do a post on your children and their Italian side emerging at school. I would love to read about that. My children live in Italy so here it is perfectly normal.
Well, for starters, one of the biggest dinner time blow-ups ever in the Crocetti household came about because Guy, the oldest of we four kids, had devoured every last bit of the wild rice stuffing early on the morning after Thanksgiving. He has still not been forgiven. That aside, we always enjoyed spirited and lively interchange at the dinner table. It might have been current events, school work, sports, and as we got older politics, but there was always talk. And no interruptions,please. The best part, though, was being together. All of us. Thanks for a lovely reminder.
NO! Guy at the leftover wild rice stuffing! How could he?? That’s definitely worth a big blow-up! Gosh, it is just so funny thinking of all the crazy things that go one in families. Thanks for sharing that.