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THE
KIDDIE TABLE
By: Laurel Ross
I
was a guest at the Trunger family table for the Jewish
New Year. The Trunger family lived around the corner
from my childhood home, and have been a part of our
family for 36 years. The senior Trungers are my parents
best friends, and their three children are all essentially
the same ages as Sue and I. Each of the Trunger kids
has married and had at least one daughter and one son.
I see them about six times a year at family and holiday
gatherings.
We
sat down to dinner that night, all 22 of us, including
7 children under the age of 13. I looked for my place
card, and saw that the adults were all at the far end
of the table, but my card wasn't there. Instead, I had
been placed smack dab in the middle of the kiddie table.
Yup. The kiddie table. On my left, a 12 year old and
a 7 year old. On my right, a 9 year old and a 14 year
old. Across from me, a 2 year old and a 10 year old.
I was too flabbergasted to speak out, as I did not trust
myself to be even remotely civil at that point. I suffered
through the meal with as much dignity as I could muster.
Older
family friends and relatives seem to think that they
have a right to show disapproval for life choices. These
are the folks who decide that they have the right to
inquire 'why aren't you married' and 'why don't you
have children.' Or even worse, the folks who studiously
avoid discussing or inquiring about your life, as they
have decided it has to be horrible. Then they regale
you with tales of how their children are married, rich,
producing grandchildren, hiring domestic help and thin.
They don't care whether you own a home or a business,
or that you have friends and community, as it doesn't
comply with their perception of how your life should
be. For the most part, I've learned to smile, nod in
the appropriate place, and tune out the conversation.
But sitting at that table made me angry.
The
following day, I discussed the Trunger fiasco with Shanti
and Rach. We got to talking about the whole kiddie table
concept, as we were each feeling the sting of wanting
to be treated as adults instead of grown kids. I was
luckier than Shanti, as I chose to be with friends for
part of the holiday. But we all shared the same concerns.
Shanti, Rach, and I are all single adults. We pay our
rents, mortgages, car payments, credit card bills, grocery
bills, medical bills, vacations, and all the other things
in our lives. We have friends, communities, and commitments
that we've built for ourselves. And yet, since we have
neither partners nor children, we get placed into some
weird category of 'pseudo adults.'
Why
does single adult come with less respect and rights
than married or parent? Does entry into full adulthood
require a bridal or baby shower?
Editors
Note: Laurel Ross welcomes your (gentle) comments. Her
email is LaurelRoss39@aol.com
sept
2002
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