Sunday family dinner.
Like many a household, family dinner on Sunday evenings was a ritual for at least the entire time we lived in Michigan and somewhat so as I ended my teenage years and my parents' marriage came to its overdue inevitable end in New Jersey. It was one family activity my Father felt was important, albeit not all ended well. He traveled constantly, over 180 days a year he boasted at times. He wasn't into his marriage to my Mom, clearly evident from the 3 abortions he paid for with affairs he was having (which I learned just in recent years) and verbal and physical fights I witnessed over the years. He loved Christopher and me growing up as well as he knew how to but he has been quick to admit later in our lives he was never good with young children. That's an understatement as you'll learn reading this blog. Sunday dinners varied over time and, to a large extent, how my Father was doing financially. They were spaghetti and meatballs, pasta with calamari (where my Mother...