The New Southern Dad

Living on a Prayer: A lesson on saying the blessing

In many households around the world, it is customary to offer thanks in the form of a prayer before partaking in a meal. Here in the South, of course, we call that “saying the blessing.” 

The practice continues in my home, and every meal my family has together, which seems to be getting fewer and fewer with our hectic schedules, is prefaced in prayer. The tradition is usually carried out by my children. It was a proud papa moment when they began volunteering to say the blessing, but as usual when children are involved, serene family moments quickly sank into chaos. 

Asking “who wants to say grace?” might as well have been the bell before a boxing match. By the time we took the first bite I would be frazzled and exhausted, the food cold on our plates. This led to the institution of the prayer schedule, alternating the responsibility from person to person each meal.

The protocol worked for a while, but as parents are prone to do from time to time, I would forget whose turn it was and ask the wrong child to grace the table. Ding, ding. Muhammed Ali and Georgie Foreman would be at it again in the breakfast table brawl. Kids can turn anything into a competition. 

Lately, my son has moved away from the rhyming, singsong blessings taught in pre-K and Sunday school and has moved on to more heartfelt, personal words of thanks. One recent evening the kids and I were having supper with my mother, and I, in my infinite wisdom, gave the directive to say grace to my son, who apparently did not hold the right to say grace that evening. 

My daughter held a tantrum for the ages. She demanded that I rescind the order and correct my wrongdoing. I don’t negotiate with terrorists or little girls. I held my ground, explaining as calmly as I could that her reaction was inappropriate. As soon as she settled down, I told my son to proceed. 

“Dear Lord,” he began. “Thank you for this food and help us deal with this situation.” 

Yes, he asked for divine intervention with his sister’s behavior. Talk about the pot calling the kettle. I probably overreacted a bit. I reprimanded him saying that his action also was not appropriate. Which delayed the meal further with more hurt feelings. 

Looking back now it’s just another funny incident to remember as I get older. If the actions of his sister is the only problem my son has that he has to seek the help from the powers that be, then he doesn’t have anything to worry about. I’ll try to keep it that way as long as I can. 

But the next time you gather around the table, remember me and mine when you say your prayers. We need all the help we can get, and hopefully get to eat before the food gets cold. 

You can reach Kyle Dominy at k.l.dominy@gmail.com or write to 115 South Jefferson St. Dublin, Ga. 31021