Sunday Suppers

It was the middle of a very hot Sunday, the shades were drawn, and the library was dark—old books, musty smell, old furniture, and me, a little nine-year old girl sitting on Granddad’s bed.

The soft, deep voice of my uncle found me out. “What you doing here in the dark, little girl? Afraid of all those folks out there? They’re all your relatives, you know.”

“I don’t know who they are.” I answered shyly. They’re just too many of them, I thought.

“Well, I’m your Uncle John, your daddy’s little brother.” He took my hand and led me out into the dining room. “This here is my little girl, Diana. She’s your cousin.”

And so the introductions began. Always with a name and then the relationship—Aunt Ruth: your dad’s sister; Alan: your dad’s brother’s son; Jack: your grandfather’s brother’s son, and on it went. Was I related to everyone? It sure seemed like it. And if we weren’t related, then it was someone who had stayed at Grammaw’s house as a boarder many years ago. It was a smorgasbord of family and friends.

As the years went by living with my grandparents, I came to like Sunday suppers. I could recite the lineage of everyone I knew, along with my own. I would often introduce myself as Gail, daughter of Harry, the son of Helen and James Fuller Hayes. The people were friendly, the food was good, and I had my girl cousins.

Now, let me explain. Every family had a lot of kids. It was the 50's after all. I think there may even have been some competition between the siblings--my aunts and uncles--for the number and gender of children. Four of us, of the girls cousins, were about the same age. So the adults tried to make sure that we were together as much as possible. In fact, for me, the girl cousins were my only friends. I wasn’t allowed to stay at anyone else’s house over night, except girl cousins’ houses; birthday parties, girl cousins; play on weekends, girl cousins.

There was a lot that happened before Sunday supper. In the morning I would get up early, get dressed, have some buckwheat pancakes with liver pudding and syrup for breakfast, and then walk over to the First Presbyterian Church down the street. The children’s choir sang at the 8 am service, so I was there by 7:45 am. We would sing a couple of songs and amen’s, but mostly, as we sat in the choir pews, we would write notes to each other on the bulletin. When the service was over and we put away our robes, we’d all run down the stairs to Sunday school in the basement. More singing, more Bible, more giggling. Here’s where it started to get fun. My girl cousins were there. Even though they were older and we weren’t in the same class, I looked forward to seeing them each week.

After Sunday school, there was another service in the sanctuary and everyone would be there. I would go with my cousins and we would sit in the balcony so we could see what was going on. We would point out the hats that we liked the most, point out the boys we liked the most, and giggle some more. I endured the service because afterwards was the church social. Oh, I loved that!

As soon as the benediction and last amen was said we ran down two flights of stairs to the basement where tea, coffee, and donuts were awaiting the faithful. Of course we had to be gracious girls and hostesses. We offered donuts to the elders, got sugar when it ran out, and cleaned up little spills. But we really liked to goad each other into talking to the boys. The boy cousins were sometimes helpful with that. They’d be talking to someone we wanted to talk to and we just walked over and joined in.

When it was time to clean up, I’d go in to the kitchen with my aunts and wash dishes and put things away. There was a place for everything in the stainless steel cupboards and drawers—all the little communion glasses had their place, the coffee cups had theirs, the silverware, too. It was amazing to me that there were so many things in that kitchen for so many people. There was enough so that every person and their cousin had their own plate, cup, silverware, and communion glass. It seemed as if God had taken care of every single person’s dining and communion needs.

After the social and all the cleanup was finished, the race began. Decorum went out the door at this point. Who could make it to Grammaw’s the fastest—those who were running or those in the cars? Runners could go ‘round the back way and cut through the yard; cars had to get to the house by way of the streets, then up the steep gravel driveway. It really was a race, everybody running as fast as they could—arms flailing, Sunday shoes clacking, skirts blowing, ties flapping. Most of the boys were already there because they didn’t help clean up, but when we got there we would all plunk ourselves down on chairs until our breath came back.

After changing out of our Sunday clothes, we would get an aluminum cup from the cupboard and get some Kool-aid. The aluminum cup hurt our fillings, but the cold drink cooled us down. We’d grab a paper plate, fill it up, and find a place to sit to eat. We had hammocks, old Adirondack chairs, a tree swing, and picnic tables outside, and all the tables and chairs inside to choose from to replenish our reserves.

Aunt, uncles, relatives, and friends of all sorts descended on Grammaw’s house for Sunday supper. In addition to the regular family—Grammaw and Granddad, three aunts, three uncles, six boy cousins, my brother, and us four girl cousins—there might be Uncle Shorty (at 7 feet tall), cousin Jack from PA, Aunt Maggie (my mom’s high school friend), and Polly (who drove a taxi), along with our current boarders, Neil the zoology student, and Tom from England (rumored to be with the FBI). Grammaw had spent the morning cooking a huge amount of food—mashed potatoes, boiled chicken, green beans, coleslaw, jello, and cherry pie among others—for all these folks and she was there in the center of it all as queen bee. Granddad was there, too, and he nudged things around at the barbecue or disappeared to fix one thing or another. Everyone was happy to see each other, and talk, and eat, and play cards, and watch TV—good food, good conversation, good friends.

We cousins would spend the rest of the day playing together. We would chase each other around barefooted, ride bikes around the yard, and race lawn mower go-carts around the clay tennis court. Sometimes we would go into the library and watch old black-and-white movies with a box of Kleenex close by. Grammaw had a great collection of old clothes in the attic. We would sneak up there and try them on, prancing around like the Astors or Vanderbilts or girls from the roaring 20’s. From the attic window we could see the sunlight lessening and the yard lights were turned on. It was time for everyone to go.

After everyone left, I was always coated with a thin layer of dirt and was told to take a bath. Snuggled into the starchy sheets of my canopy bed, exhausted by the day, I read stories of the Brothers Grimm as I fell asleep.

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