Family Supper [Glimpses of Faith - Journal]
Family supper
(January 25, 1998)
Last night we had “family supper,” which consisted of a half dozen blessings followed by a plate of mystery meat that tasted like something the cat dragged in, then ate, then threw up. The Joneses look exactly like the couple in that painting where the old guy’s holding a pitchfork (Jess calls them the “American Gothics” - more on her later), but even older maybe. Mrs. Jones - a.k.a. Mrs. Gothic - asked me to say something, and then everyone closed their eyes and folded their hands and bowed their heads, just like they had for the last five times someone said grace. It was just so phony and weirdly formal that I said as a little prayer, just as a joke, “Good drink, good eat, good God, let’s eat.” Anyway, you would have thought I spat on a nun or something, because Mr. Jones turned bright red and started ranting and raving about how I’d disrespected him and his house and his family and how dare I, and that he took me into his home because of the love and light in his heart (yeah, and I’m sure all those checks he’s getting from the state while we’re crammed into rows of bunk beds has nothing to do with it) and then said I’d be doing the cleaning up, which really isn’t that big a deal because all the foster kids eat off paper plates.
So I’m in the kitchen doing the Cinderella thing, and Jess, one of the other girls, comes in and starts helping me. Then she kind of looks around and whispers, “You don’t want to cause too much trouble around her, believe me.” I ask her why not and she looks up for a second when Mrs. Gothic walks in. We go back to what we were doing, and the lady of the house eyes us suspiciously like she’s making sure we’re not going to steal the silverware (which, of course, only the Joneses get to use).
Truth be told, I’d rather go back to being ignored.
©Go Ask Malice.