Lizzie Goes to Sunday Dinner by Betsy

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon in 1939. A large family group of 10-12 people is seated around a long table at the Pudding Stone Inn, a cozy hotel tucked into the side of a hill in rural New Jersey. The inn’s restaurant is frequented by this same family at least monthly during the warmer time of the year.

The matriarch and the patriarch, the eldest of the family, are seated each at opposite ends of the gleaming white linen-draped table. It is by their invitation, rather, by their request, that the family is here all having attended church together that morning.

Lizzie is the youngest member of the group at the age of three years. That place of distinction is soon to be usurped by a cousin whose entrance into the world is expected to take place in a couple of months. Lizzie sits in a high chair pulled up to the table but she has her own tray attached to her chair where her food is about to be placed. A napkin matching the gleaming white linen table cloth is tied around her neck and flattened in front to form a bib. Her father, brother, aunts, uncles and cousins complete the group.

Even at the tender age of three Lizzie knows exactly what foods she likes and dislikes. Ever since she started eating solid food, which was not that long ago, she knew also the foods she did not like. She hated oatmeal. At age 3 she did not know enough to call it by its proper name, but she knew she didn’t want any. At home at breakfast time, “Eat this up,” her mother would gently cajole. “I don’t want my ‘up’,” Lizzie would cry. Well, she would not have to eat any ‘up’ at this meal. ‘Up’ is a breakfast food and this was Sunday dinner.

Sunday dinner. The vision of one of her favorite foods enters her mind--a dill pickle spear. Finally, after waiting way too long, the food is brought out to the table. As usual Lizzie’s mother will share her food with her and probably deliver it to her mouth. It’s the usual Sunday afternoon dinner fare--turkey with gravy and mashed potatoes and some vegetables--probably overcooked--but that’s okay; Most children like vegetables that way--soft and soggy. On a plate, way out of her reach is Lizzie’s favorite food, a dill pickle. It does seem odd for a three year old to be so fond of such a strong tasting, puckery food as dill pickle, but it’s true--it is her favorite.

“Can I have my pickle,” asks Lizzie. “No, first you must eat some of this food, Lizzie,” she is instructed by her mother. One or two bites is all that is needed for this rather puny child. She manages to down enough to satisfy Mom. Before she knows it dessert is on the way. Ice cream it is for Lizzie and Ice cream she likes well enough. She hardly has any room left for anything but takes a taste or two to please Mom who is coaxing a cajoling her into finishing dessert. Finally Lizzie looks at her mom as she finishes the last sweet, creamy spoonful at the bottom of the dish. “Now can I have my pickle?” she asks.© 29 March 2014

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver women’s chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change). She has been retired from the Human Services field for about 15 years. Since her retirement, her major activities include tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with National Sports Center for the Disabled, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and enjoys spending time with her four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 25 years, Gillian Edwards.