There was a magical time in the life of all the kids on the hill where I was raised. It was when you moved from the little table to the “Grown Up” Big Table. I used to look with envy at the older folks, casually and confidently serving up equal portions of food and conversation. I longed to join that club, and sometimes couldn’t wait for someone to die to get the coveted seat. I would look over and see the drunk cousin from out of county who didn’t really belong at the Big Table. He was obnoxious and loud, and no one really liked him, not even the grown-ups. They tolerated him because good southern manners dictated that they should. He even interrupted Granddaddy, and that was a cardinal sin because he held the position of authority at the Big Table.
There was a pecking order, usually oldest to youngest, and we knew where we stood every time there was a meal with the entire extended family. We knew the rules, we knew what to talk about, and how to react to them all in a proper way. We were big fish in a little pond. We banded together in a fluid manner, sometimes according to who was the “coolest” that week. The list ran from my cousin Donnie, who, as the oldest and coolest rated top billing, to my younger sister Jayne, too little to even have hope. Neither would ever get to make the move, Donnie leaving for college before an opening occurred and Jayne because the main reason for our convening would leave forever. As I got older at the little table, I would move up closer to the place where the Big Table stood. I knew I was getting closer to the day of my promotion.
When the day finally came, I was old enough to finally realize that the position comes with a price, and sometimes it was a bitter one to pay. I found out the hard way that when the next seat became available, it might not be the drunk cousin that made the space, but a beloved Grandfather. It seemed that the more important and irreplaceable the person was, the sooner their seat became vacant. The chair was left open for a time, and finally the invitation was made, “Why don’t you sit over here with the grown folks tonight?”. That question always caused a silence to loom over the little table. Everyone would look at each other, then over at the anointed one… me. After an embarrassed look around, I slid my chair back, took a deep breath, and said in a low voice “See Ya’ll”. I moved over to the Big Table, now a small fish in a big pond, unsure of the rules and in no way rushing to join the conversation, and not at all proud to be there.