One of my favorite family memories from childhood is our Sunday Dinner. No matter how my family members’ interests and activities differed, or how dispersed we became during the week, Sunday Dinner was the magnet that brought us back to center, delivered us home.

Southern dishes never tasted as good as on Sunday. In the summer months - homemade fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, mustard potato salad, fresh squash and green beans. And placed in dishes along the middle of the table were fresh slices of summer tomatoes, cucumbers, green onions and crisp banana peppers from the garden.

Winter meals were just as wonderful. Fried chicken or baked ham, cornbread and butter, collard greens, pinto beans, creamy mashed potatoes and fried okra. Bowls of homemade chow-chow, pickles and bottles of pepper sauce were set out to further flavor the vegetables. And gallons of sweet tea flowed, regardless of the time of year.

Sometimes Sunday dinner involved just my immediate family. But it often included  aunts, uncles, cousins or various friends of my parents. As the years went by and family members moved to faraway places, Sunday Dinners waned. So the event became even grander when family members returned home from out of town. My mother spent days gathering, baking pickling, frying and doing whatever else required to lay out a feast for her family.

As an adult, I coveted my own visits home for Sundays or holidays. My mother’s scrumptious spread made me feel like a carefree child, unburdened by a demanding career and grown up responsibilities.

My parents are both gone now, and my other family members live far away. Unfortunately, my husband and I did not carry on a tradition of Sunday Dinner in our own family and I regret not providing my son with that gift.

This past weekend, my husband and I visited his parents in Talladega, AL. Sunday arrived and I found my mother-in-law busy in the kitchen preparing dinner. Her menu was different from my mother’s but the vignette was the same – a clothed table set with Sunday dishes and glasses. A pause for the blessing. Passing of the biscuits, butter, salt and pepper.

After dinner, we all gathered in the den with iced tea and homemade desserts and I listened as my husband bantered with his older brother and younger sister. I chatted and laughed along with them as they discussed the latest small town happenings, new grandbabies and the recent discovery of my father-in-law’s ancient-looking high school algebra book. I spent the afternoon carefree and unburdened.

Sunday Dinner is, after all, more than a meal. It is an important time during which a family’s uniqueness in this world is articulated by its members. It is a time during which significant aspects of a family’s history are recounted and shared with younger members, but also a time in which the family’s story is furthered. It is a time in which distinct traditions are enacted and memories are made.

The importance of family mealtime has been well-researched. For example, a 2009 study at Columbia University affirmed that regular conversation with their elders at meal time makes teens less likely to smoke, drink and use marijuana. Family meals provide an opportunity for parents to model good behavior and strengthen relationships with their children. 

Our son is in college and almost 19, but he does live at home. And next Sunday, he will be called to Sunday Dinner in the dining room. He may balk at what he feels is an infringement on his free time, but he will quickly  get over that. And very soon, he will hopefully recall Sunday Dinners as something that brought us back to center after the past few difficult months in our family’s life.