| Humor Fiction posted December 2, 2021 |
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Family dinners run amok
Dinner and a Show
by Earl Corp
Family dinners were always adventures, not good ones. They were always at the table and the television was off. The table had to be set just right with everybody getting a plate, drinking glass, napkin, fork, knife, and a spoon. Though I don’t ever remember getting served anything that required a spoon.
Dad always had to have a glass, glass to drink out of. And God help whoever had washed the glass if there was a spot on it.
Proper dinner manners were observed. We weren’t allowed to reach beyond the perimeter of our plates. We had to ask for something to be passed. I found this out the hard way when Dad put a fork through the back of my left hand when I was reaching for some bread.
There were a lot of off limits topics for dinner conversation. We weren’t allowed to talk about hippies, protest marches, music (other than Johnny Cash), or anything controversial.
You’d have thought Dad was King Arthur at the round table the way he ruled this domain. We just all held our breaths and hoped we didn’t do anything to incur his wrath. We all avoided eye contact with the big guy throughout the meal. His tirades at dinner were legendary.
If something displeased him he would signal this by dropping his fork from mouth level. This was a signal that we were all to stop eating and pay attention to him.
Klunk.
Dad had found a hair in his food. We all stopped eating and watched as he would slowly lift the hair up to eye level. Then he would go into his best CSI mode and start to match it to the offending party. I was pretty safe on this one since my mother and sisters did all the cooking.
Klunk.
Believe it or not, Dad had found a bone in boneless canned salmon. If it was advertised as boneless, he would find one. At this point the meal was essentially over.
Klunk.
I was wearing an Adidas T-shirt at the dinner table. My dad wasn’t up to date with the latest athletic shoe fads.
“How dare you wear a shirt with a pot leaf at my table?”
“Dad, this an athletic shoe company.”
“You’re not fooling me that’s a pot leaf, Go change immediately.”
“Yes sir.”
My mother made sure we had good table manners and Dad reinforced it. Every so often he would say we knew how to eat at his table until we started going to school, then our manners went downhill.
I started working for farmers baling hay. One of the perks was you always got fed. And it was a drama fee zone. My mother made sure we were well instructed in manners and would represent her well.
One day I was baling hay for an old farmer and when we went to eat, I was ready to be on my best behavior. What transpired at that meal would break my mother’s heart.
We were sat at a small square table just a little larger than a card table, I wanted a piece of bread and noticed it was out of the zone. I don’t need stuck twice to learn a lesson.
“Please pass the bread.”
The farmer continued eating and never even acknowledged I said anything, I don’t know if it was my look of confusion or that I repeated my request, but the farmer’s wife tried to intervene.
“Bill, he asked you to pass the bread.”
The farmer stopped eating long enough to growl, “He can reach can’t he.”
Hey, when in Rome.
~ Family Story ~ (fiction) writing prompt entry
Family dinners were always adventures, not good ones. They were always at the table and the television was off. The table had to be set just right with everybody getting a plate, drinking glass, napkin, fork, knife, and a spoon. Though I don’t ever remember getting served anything that required a spoon.
Dad always had to have a glass, glass to drink out of. And God help whoever had washed the glass if there was a spot on it.
Proper dinner manners were observed. We weren’t allowed to reach beyond the perimeter of our plates. We had to ask for something to be passed. I found this out the hard way when Dad put a fork through the back of my left hand when I was reaching for some bread.
There were a lot of off limits topics for dinner conversation. We weren’t allowed to talk about hippies, protest marches, music (other than Johnny Cash), or anything controversial.
You’d have thought Dad was King Arthur at the round table the way he ruled this domain. We just all held our breaths and hoped we didn’t do anything to incur his wrath. We all avoided eye contact with the big guy throughout the meal. His tirades at dinner were legendary.
If something displeased him he would signal this by dropping his fork from mouth level. This was a signal that we were all to stop eating and pay attention to him.
Klunk.
Dad had found a hair in his food. We all stopped eating and watched as he would slowly lift the hair up to eye level. Then he would go into his best CSI mode and start to match it to the offending party. I was pretty safe on this one since my mother and sisters did all the cooking.
Klunk.
Believe it or not, Dad had found a bone in boneless canned salmon. If it was advertised as boneless, he would find one. At this point the meal was essentially over.
Klunk.
I was wearing an Adidas T-shirt at the dinner table. My dad wasn’t up to date with the latest athletic shoe fads.
“How dare you wear a shirt with a pot leaf at my table?”
“Dad, this an athletic shoe company.”
“You’re not fooling me that’s a pot leaf, Go change immediately.”
“Yes sir.”
My mother made sure we had good table manners and Dad reinforced it. Every so often he would say we knew how to eat at his table until we started going to school, then our manners went downhill.
I started working for farmers baling hay. One of the perks was you always got fed. And it was a drama fee zone. My mother made sure we were well instructed in manners and would represent her well.
One day I was baling hay for an old farmer and when we went to eat, I was ready to be on my best behavior. What transpired at that meal would break my mother’s heart.
We were sat at a small square table just a little larger than a card table, I wanted a piece of bread and noticed it was out of the zone. I don’t need stuck twice to learn a lesson.
“Please pass the bread.”
The farmer continued eating and never even acknowledged I said anything, I don’t know if it was my look of confusion or that I repeated my request, but the farmer’s wife tried to intervene.
“Bill, he asked you to pass the bread.”
The farmer stopped eating long enough to growl, “He can reach can’t he.”
Hey, when in Rome.
Dad always had to have a glass, glass to drink out of. And God help whoever had washed the glass if there was a spot on it.
Proper dinner manners were observed. We weren’t allowed to reach beyond the perimeter of our plates. We had to ask for something to be passed. I found this out the hard way when Dad put a fork through the back of my left hand when I was reaching for some bread.
There were a lot of off limits topics for dinner conversation. We weren’t allowed to talk about hippies, protest marches, music (other than Johnny Cash), or anything controversial.
You’d have thought Dad was King Arthur at the round table the way he ruled this domain. We just all held our breaths and hoped we didn’t do anything to incur his wrath. We all avoided eye contact with the big guy throughout the meal. His tirades at dinner were legendary.
If something displeased him he would signal this by dropping his fork from mouth level. This was a signal that we were all to stop eating and pay attention to him.
Klunk.
Dad had found a hair in his food. We all stopped eating and watched as he would slowly lift the hair up to eye level. Then he would go into his best CSI mode and start to match it to the offending party. I was pretty safe on this one since my mother and sisters did all the cooking.
Klunk.
Believe it or not, Dad had found a bone in boneless canned salmon. If it was advertised as boneless, he would find one. At this point the meal was essentially over.
Klunk.
I was wearing an Adidas T-shirt at the dinner table. My dad wasn’t up to date with the latest athletic shoe fads.
“How dare you wear a shirt with a pot leaf at my table?”
“Dad, this an athletic shoe company.”
“You’re not fooling me that’s a pot leaf, Go change immediately.”
“Yes sir.”
My mother made sure we had good table manners and Dad reinforced it. Every so often he would say we knew how to eat at his table until we started going to school, then our manners went downhill.
I started working for farmers baling hay. One of the perks was you always got fed. And it was a drama fee zone. My mother made sure we were well instructed in manners and would represent her well.
One day I was baling hay for an old farmer and when we went to eat, I was ready to be on my best behavior. What transpired at that meal would break my mother’s heart.
We were sat at a small square table just a little larger than a card table, I wanted a piece of bread and noticed it was out of the zone. I don’t need stuck twice to learn a lesson.
“Please pass the bread.”
The farmer continued eating and never even acknowledged I said anything, I don’t know if it was my look of confusion or that I repeated my request, but the farmer’s wife tried to intervene.
“Bill, he asked you to pass the bread.”
The farmer stopped eating long enough to growl, “He can reach can’t he.”
Hey, when in Rome.
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Writing Prompt *Read All Rules* Write a FICTIONAL story that involves a human family. The word length is minimum of 400 words with 600 words maximum. ABSOLUTELY NO VULGAR WORDS, SEXUAL TERMS/ACTS OR INNUENDOS ABOUT, BUT NOT LIMITED TO SEX AND/OR VULGAR DESCRIPTIONS. NO WARNINGS FOR LANGUAGE OR VIOLENCE ACCEPTABLE. NO 'blood & guts" gory story, such as murder of people. Do NOT include time travel among characters, or 'Dear John' letters. This isn't a Thanksgiving story. Christmas may be mentioned, but it isn't a Christmas story. Do NOT have any music that automatically plays when story begins. You may use 1 picture that has no words, animation, or music, one color font with one color background, dedication line (optional) which doesn't count in word length, and author notes that may include 1 video (may have vocal sound/music). |
 Recognized |
* 600 words exactly
* While this may have some ring of truth to it, it is a fictional account
* Be kind.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. * While this may have some ring of truth to it, it is a fictional account
* Be kind.
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