Growing up, my mom had three important rules: we go to church on Sunday, we make our beds and we eat together as a family.
It was so important to her that we set aside time in the day to be together, even if it was just for a meal — no screens, no distractions. The dinner table became a sacred space at my house.
No matter where I was or what I was doing, I had to be home for dinner. As a kid, I tried to fight her on it, but all of my efforts failed, seeing as I’m an only child and was outnumbered.
But as I got older, I really wanted to be with my friends. I wanted to go to the football games and the movies, and I wanted to be wherever the party was — wherever the noise was — because a house with no siblings was too quiet. My mom didn’t like the quiet either, so she encouraged me to get out of the house and make memories as long as it didn’t interfere with family dinner.
But I didn’t want to miss a second of anything, so, I brought the party to my house. I made siblings out of my friends. They joined our dinners, our parties, our trips — our life. They ate countless meals with us. And now, I realize some of my favorite memories come from that dining room table.
These include my mom’s countless cooking experiments, dinner parties and midnight snacks during sleepovers. Also, the memories of seventh-grade math homework, crying while my dad tried to explain said math homework, candle wax, card games and enriching conversation.
I vividly remember the vases and centerpieces that changed with the seasons and my Nana’s navy blue tablecloth that only made appearances on Christmas and Thanksgiving. This table is stained with coffee rings and Sharpie scribbles, courtesy of 4-year-old me, and the left corner has a chip in the wood.
Our table has seen the little moments — and the big ones. It saw the day we got a dog, the day I got my heart broken, the day I graduated high school and the day I packed up, said goodbye and drove across the country to Pepperdine
Then, when I got to college, I missed the table. I missed my parents and my friends and even my mom telling me to come to dinner. But, the fear and homesickness began to subside when I met my friends.
The dining table became the Caf, the floor of Debell F suite and, on Tuesdays, BJ’s. Then, life changed again, and there were more goodbyes and new adventures to be had.
Now, after a year apart, going abroad, embracing new cultures and pushing through new challenges, my friends and I are together again, learning from one another and witnessing the ways we have all changed and grown. Circles have expanded, and there are new stories to tell.
In August, my friends and I moved into our home for the next two years — six girls in our own little yellow house.
The skylights in every room wake us up before the cacophony of alarm clocks even has a chance. It’s decked out in very tacky but almost charming beach decor we have not yet bothered to replace.
We have a kitchen and a tiny driveway we somehow manage to squeeze three cars into, a chore chart and a slight plumbing problem and, my favorite, a dining table with windows all around it.
It is a new place to share meals, do homework and make memories. It’s a great big table good for puzzles and fresh flowers. Here, life is good. Peaceful.
Even the hard things that come my way don’t feel as painful. I know I need to hold these college days close to my heart — days I’ll never get back.
As I write this from my dining room table, I see there is so much to be grateful for.
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Email Ava Heinert: ava.heinert@pepperdine.edu
