| Biographical Fiction posted January 10, 2021 |
  |
Ritual
Mealtime Melodies
by Wils
Like every morning at 7.45 the musical introduction of the ABC news could be heard blaring from the kitchen radio. Dad’s head was bent over the morning paper, trying to drown out the sound of four noisy kids at the breakfast table. The scent of frying bacon wafted to my young nostrils, Dad’s regular.
My parents always believed in family meals. The importance of a group of people eating around the table, discussing the upcoming events of the day, and engaging in what, at least in theory, was light-hearted, jovial conversation.
Breakfast for a ten-year-old consisted of everything that would make you regular. A healthy source of cereal and two slices of warm toast topped with Vegemite. Mum would be up at the bench making four cups of hot Milo and making sure everything was ready for her brood to have a good day at school.
Upon swallowing the last crumb of toast and downing the last Milo drop I would push my chair back, in an attempt to sneak away.
“What do you say,” Dad’s voice would boom out, as I knew it would. Slowly I would return to my seat.
“I have had sufficient; please can I leave the table?”
“I don’t know. Can you?”
“May I?”
“Get going.”
Of course I said it, it had been drummed into me since I could talk. The Mealtime Melody. The fact that neither I nor my siblings had no idea what the word sufficient meant seemed to mean nothing to my parents if the words were recited.
Today I look back on that ritual with a smile. Sufficient will always hold a special memory for me.
Parenthood: An indelible memory writing prompt entry
Like every morning at 7.45 the musical introduction of the ABC news could be heard blaring from the kitchen radio. Dad’s head was bent over the morning paper, trying to drown out the sound of four noisy kids at the breakfast table. The scent of frying bacon wafted to my young nostrils, Dad’s regular.
My parents always believed in family meals. The importance of a group of people eating around the table, discussing the upcoming events of the day, and engaging in what, at least in theory, was light-hearted, jovial conversation.
Breakfast for a ten-year-old consisted of everything that would make you regular. A healthy source of cereal and two slices of warm toast topped with Vegemite. Mum would be up at the bench making four cups of hot Milo and making sure everything was ready for her brood to have a good day at school.
Upon swallowing the last crumb of toast and downing the last Milo drop I would push my chair back, in an attempt to sneak away.
“What do you say,” Dad’s voice would boom out, as I knew it would. Slowly I would return to my seat.
“I have had sufficient; please can I leave the table?”
“I don’t know. Can you?”
“May I?”
“Get going.”
Of course I said it, it had been drummed into me since I could talk. The Mealtime Melody. The fact that neither I nor my siblings had no idea what the word sufficient meant seemed to mean nothing to my parents if the words were recited.
Today I look back on that ritual with a smile. Sufficient will always hold a special memory for me.
My parents always believed in family meals. The importance of a group of people eating around the table, discussing the upcoming events of the day, and engaging in what, at least in theory, was light-hearted, jovial conversation.
Breakfast for a ten-year-old consisted of everything that would make you regular. A healthy source of cereal and two slices of warm toast topped with Vegemite. Mum would be up at the bench making four cups of hot Milo and making sure everything was ready for her brood to have a good day at school.
Upon swallowing the last crumb of toast and downing the last Milo drop I would push my chair back, in an attempt to sneak away.
“What do you say,” Dad’s voice would boom out, as I knew it would. Slowly I would return to my seat.
“I have had sufficient; please can I leave the table?”
“I don’t know. Can you?”
“May I?”
“Get going.”
Of course I said it, it had been drummed into me since I could talk. The Mealtime Melody. The fact that neither I nor my siblings had no idea what the word sufficient meant seemed to mean nothing to my parents if the words were recited.
Today I look back on that ritual with a smile. Sufficient will always hold a special memory for me.
|
Writing Prompt Describe a memory, a lesson taught or learned, or a moment shared that will stay with both parent and child forever. Prose only. No minimum or maximun word count. |
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. Wils All rights reserved.
Wils has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
