I was the fourth of five. By the time I was a teen, my parents had experienced the teen years of my three older siblings. My parents loved me, but it is a fact, they did not care whether I ate at home or not.
They didn’t announce they did not care. Experience taught me the harsh and yet liberating reality of my situation. I was a new seventh-grader, time got away from me at a friend’s house. I headed home missing dinner by a couple of hours, not having called. I assumed “grounded” would soon be my status as I braced for my parents’ wrath. I was pleasantly surprised; mom asked If I had a good night. I responded, “yep”. And so it started.
I spent seventh grade (infrequently) and eighth-grade (frequently) exploring the limits of my parent’s indifference of me missing dinner. Over the remainder of my teens, I never once found the limit. I never felt unwelcome at home, The table was set for those of us home when the table was set. Come home in the middle of dinner, a setting was added. Come home after dinner, and you were welcome to any leftovers. Don’t show up for dinner, that was fine also.
My decision of whether or not to be home for dinner revolved around the relative convenience of getting home for dinner. We lived close to the west border of Roseville, MN. Most of my friends, my schools, shopping, and restaurants were more centrally located. It was often just more convenient to eat out before going to a sporting event, concert, church event, friend’s house, or the like.
Between my morning paper route and working part-time, the paying part of eating out was not an issue. I felt comfortable eating alone. It was often just easier to grab dinner out. My parents were okay with it, so that is what I often did.
I ate several places but mostly Har Mar Pizza. At first, the staff at Har Mar Pizza treated me just like any other customer, sit, menu, order, beverage, food, eat, check, and go to the register to pay.
I usually ordered a sausage, mushroom, and pepperoni pizza. Put the sausage on in small chunks so the flavor is more evenly distributed, please. My normal. But periodically I would change it up occasionally with a burger or spaghetti and meatballs.
It was not long until, if the cook saw me walk in, he would just ask if I wanted the usual and the waitress either just brought me what I usually drank (Coke for a while then Dr. Pepper) or told me to get it myself.
Not at first but at some point, generally, when I finished eating, I bussed my table. If there were some dirty dishes on an empty table I was walking by, I would often just grab them and put them in the bus tray. No big deal. I was there frequently and they were nice to me so helping seemed fair.
Gradually, not every time, when I brought the check to the cash register, rather than charge me, the waitress or cook would crumple up the check and just throw it away.
It was never a formal thing but from around ninth grade on, I pretty much always ate for free. How much I helped had also evolved. If they were really busy I would run a load or two of dishes through the dishwasher or grab some needed supplies from the back room. They appreciated the help and I appreciated the free food.
We had an unspoken understanding if I was there with my friends, my friends and I would pay because free did not apply to everyone. They also understood, interacting with me when I was alone is different from interacting with me when I am with a group of friends. If the group got loud, they told us all to keep it quiet. I was never singled out because they knew me well. I appreciated that.
As I got old enough to drive, my time at Har Mar Pizza expanded. I would often eat at Har Mar Pizza before and or after whatever part-time job I had at the time. Even on school nights after an event, I would drop my friends off at their home, then often go to Har Mar Pizza for soda. The staff appreciated the help of putting chairs upside down on the tables so the floor could be cleaned.
Maybe you noticed, besides not required to be home for dinner, there was not a curfew. Coming home at ten or ten-thirty on a school night, was not an issue. On the rare occasion when I would call telling mom I was going to be late, she asked if something was wrong, confused as to why I called just to tell them I would be late.
My dinner/curfew freedom was just the way it was for me. It was my reality. I knew my friends did not enjoy the same freedom as I did. At the time it did not make me cool or the object of pity. It was just the way it was.
Not until I had kids of my own, was the relationship between reasonable restrictions and nurturing clear to me. I am still working through how my parents could both love me dearly and still not nurture me well in some obvious ways. Dad passed 50 years ago and mom passed 30 years ago so I can’t talk to them about it.
I still eat sausage, mushroom, and pepperoni pizza. I am not so much for caffeinated beverages anymore. My Har Mar Pizza days ended when they closed. I started working for them as a college student when they reopened as Cicero’s Pizza.
I was still working at Cicero’s until I got my first career-type job working for the State of Minnesota at the Unemployment Division in early 1975. I am still a bit of a night owl.
The closer you look the more you see.