November Writings: Grace

When I was a child, we visited my grandparents often, and would gather around their kitchen table for meals. My grandfather would drink himself well-past-intoxicated to that point of inappropriate jokes that provided just enough "education" to my very young self. He was boisterous and loud, downright raunchy disguised in that jolly laughter. Later those evenings, unseen or ignored by other adults, he would expose himself to me or my sister. I celebrated Christmas Eve with his invading fingers fondling and groping my then nine-year-old body.

"God is good, God is great." I would smile and recite at the dinner table. It was my duty to say grace. 

A few years later, my mother and stepfather hosted huge family gatherings around our kitchen table. My stepfather was a church-going man with decades old suits and even older ideas about marriage. "A wife must obey her husband."

He would draw quotes from the bible as he beat my mother black and blue. 

"God is good, God is great." I would smile and recite at the dinner table. It was my duty to say grace. 

Now, I'm an adult with daughters of my own. No one says grace around our kitchen table, and I smile, my heart full of genuine love and gratitude.