More?

It was July 31^st, 2004, and I have soon cruised past the "Yes Michigan!" welcoming sign in route to meet Andrea's parents for the very first time. Not much had been set up for the weekend visit and I didn't want to make a bad first impression so I tried to cover my bases. Knowing I was about 2 hours from her house, I did the math and realized I would be arriving at what might be considered a fairly late dinner hour. Not wanting to impose on them to reheat whatever might be leftover from their meal, I pulled off the highway at the beacon of a Burger King and added two Jr. Whoppers with Cheese to the horde of fluttering butterflies. Feeling quite satisfied, I continued the journey and soon found myself making the last turns of the directions Andrea gave to me (learning that "Cuss Road" was actually "Cuff Road" took a bit of the fun out of it). Pulling into the driveway, Andrea and her dad were already approaching, thankfully both wearing unmistakable smiles. A good sign.

 

When invited into the house, my attention locked immediately onto the fancy dining table set for what looked like a feast. Table cloth, cloth napkins, candles, long-necked goblets… "Uh oh," I thought, "Look out Juniors, you're going to have company." Having explained that I had eaten a bit on the road (too embarrassed to reveal the quality of the food), I agreed to take a small portion and was given expressed permission to eat "only what I wanted." The smallest burger on the plate, a bit of salad and some fruit to slip between what cracks might be left empty. Over the course of the meal, I slowly but methodically nibbled away at my plate, seriously going way beyond the agreed upon "only what I wanted." With the goal at hand, I mustered the courage to hoist the last bite of my burger up to my mouth. But even before it arrived, my gracious host and the woman for whom I was auditioning for the part of son-in-law broke my concentration, "Here, Travis, have some more, there's more burgers, more carrots, more everything, what can I get you?" Smiling so as to cover the inner turmoil, I graciously admitted defeat and made a mental note to NEVER darken the window of that highway Burger King again!

 

Over the course of the next few months, I found myself a frequent guest at the Rockey dinner table and so I became quite familiar with their family's habits as they differed from the typical meals at the Williamsons. The Rockeys like table cloths and often matching cloth napkins as opposed to the stained wood look I was most familiar with. They drink out of nice goblets, even at breakfast, contrast that with the faded pink, yellow and orange plastic cups that grew old with my family. There are many differences, most of which I learned and adjusted to without difficulty. However, maybe haunted from that very first meal, there is one difference in table manners that I can't completely get over.

 

You see the Rockeys have something in their DNA, a special kind of radar it seems, such that they are always keenly aware of exactly how much food remains on each person's plate. And they must be wired with some alarm system which blares obnoxiously in their minds whenever someone's last bite lifts off its launch pad.  And after years of study, I have recently concluded that asking the question, "What can I get you?" and passing all the serving dishes toward the impoverished individual is, in fact, the only code by which this alarm is turned off.

 

Quite a remarkable discovery, if I do say so myself. This trait, its gotta be instinctual, and its gotta be genetic, particularly attached to the X chromosome, flourishing in the presence of another X. Andrea's mom is a master, but so also are Andrea's Grandma and Aunts. "What about Andrea?" you ask. Yes, at first, she too was subject to this rare (or at least non-Williamson) alertness against empty plates, but we've been working on it together. You see, in the Williamson home I grew up in, those who finished their plate were congratulated and allowed to lean back in their chair, savoring the hard-fought victory (No, that is not a comment on the quality of food! Don't you try to get me in trouble!). Second helpings were given upon specific request. Andrea has lovingly accommodated me by learning to ignore when her alarm is triggered by the empty plate in front of me.

 

But wait, if, as my theory suggests, this trait is truly hard-wired into the DNA, would Grace also have this special gift? And if so, how and when would we know? Well, wonder no longer. The other evening, we were all sitting around eating one of our favorite treats – homemade chocolate ice cream. Having dished out three small glass cups for herself, Micah and Grace, I was given the original container which still contained the lion's share. A few minutes later the stillness of collective enjoyment was broken by one of Grace's favorite words, "More!" When seeing that her cup was still half full, I responded graciously, "Gracie, finish what you have in your cup, then you  can have more." Unsatisfied, she said it again, "More, daddy, more!" I looked at Andrea, who tried her best to explain it such that she could understand, "Gracie, do you have some ice cream in your cup? Ok, finish that first, then you can have more from daddy." Frustrated now, Grace saw that she was going to have to spell this out for her dense parents, "More, daddy, mommy, more!" As Andrea and I burst out in laughter, Gracie had had enough, she walked over to Andrea's seat, took her mommy's empty cup and brought it over to me for a refill. Receiving what she deemed to be a sufficient second helping for her mom, Grace then gave it back to Andrea and returned to her own seat. Sorry Grace, that little alarm must be quite strong to distract you from chocolate ice cream!

 

These days, it's not uncommon for us to be enjoying a meal together when, out of the blue, we hear a very recognizable, "More." I've learned now, to instinctively look down at my plate and the plates of others at the table to see what needs to be refilled. While I may not have the right DNA to blare the internal siren, I now have the cutest little girl's voice to raise my awareness. This time around, it seems, it is me who is doing the learning and accommodating.