Entertaining vs. Hospitality


I received a book to review on this blog a few months ago that I was actually pretty excited about. It was talking about entertaining for people who didn’t really like to entertain or didn’t feel like they knew how. And I thought, that’s for me! I’m not a detail person. I find it hard to put on a party, because when people come I get so caught up in talking to them I forget about little things like oven timers and when food has to be turned on.

So I thought: this can help organize me!

Instead it just depressed me. It was all about how to make your home beautiful, and how to do gorgeous place settings, and how to make canapes. I’m never going to make canapes.

Now maybe you have the gift of entertaining, and you find this sort of thing fun. But what I find fun is having a pile of people over, serving something easy like chicken fajitas with lots of fixings, and then eating wherever you can find a chair while you talk nonstop, and then playing board games afterwards while the kids scatter.

In fact, after reading this book, I began to think that maybe I’d never actually thrown a dinner party in my life! I’ve had tons of people over for dinner, but I’ve never thrown a dinner party! I’ve only ever “had people over”. I had thought I had thrown dinner parties, but my table never looked anything like the tables in that book.

Please understand; I am not saying there’s anything wrong with that kind of entertaining. But I just don’t know if I have the time to put in that kind of work in order to have people over. The author of this book gets her kids involved, and it’s a family affair, and that’s wonderful. But I’m not that kind of person. I’m a lot more laid back. I like a lot of laughter, not quiet music playing in the background. I like big debates, not tame conversation. So I’m not a dinner party gal.

I worry that if we expect that anytime we have people over for dinner it has to be a big production, that we will stop inviting people over. One of the best things you can do to encourage friendships for your children (and yourself) is to have people over. Invite other families over. Talk. Instead of watching TV tonight, talk to friends! Share food. Have people bring something and contribute. Let’s function more like a community.

But will we do that if we think that we must have elaborate place settings for people? Or we must plan a menu to reflect the seasons, or the fall colours, or the summer bounty? What if I just want to clear out my freezer?

I’m not saying I don’t put any effort in; I guess it’s just that I see a difference between hospitality and entertaining. Hospitality says, “come and share my life”. Entertaining says, “I will do something out of the ordinary and extraordinary for you”. Hospitality says, “I’m not really making extra effort; I just value you and so I want to include you in what we’re doing because you make it better by being here.” Entertaining says, “I went out of my way for you.”

One isn’t wrong and one right, it’s just a different philosophy. I would rather just share my life, and so I don’t do the whole “posh” thing. But some people are very good at posh, and it comes naturally. So by all means, go ahead!

But let’s not think that in order to have people over we have to be posh. No, you don’t. Do you know how rare a home cooked meal is today, even if it’s just spaghetti? Anything you do is probably impressive. So don’t be afraid to share, even the little you do have. Remember the five small barley loaves and two small fish? They weren’t much, but they fed a ton of people and everyone had a big party. You can take the little you have and give people a memory.

I figure that what people remember is the feeling of community and the interaction. Others who focus more on entertaining may feel they remember the beauty, and the grace, and the effort. Both are fine. But that beauty and grace and effort, while lovely, is not necessary. Don’t let fears that you can’t entertain stop you from having people in. Just share who you are, and laugh, and talk, and play, and have fun, and people will remember, even if it’s not a traditional dinner party. And if we all got back to inviting people in once a week, rather than hibernating in our own homes watching TV, we’d be a much healthier society.

Do you have people over? What’s your favourite thing to make? How do you make it fun? Let me know!

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A Parent’s Most Basic Responsibility is to Feed Their Children

 

Grayson, our granddaughter, eating a Georgia  peach and enjoying every bite.
Photo by Bruce Tuten

There’s been a lot of talk over my post last week criticizing the 3 meals a day, 365 days a year feeding program Michelle Obama is attempting to expand. I said it was terrible, because government was taking over a parent’s job.

In the comments, some agreed, some didn’t, and some were noncommittal. The issue for many was, what else are we going to do? We can’t remove kids from their homes, and we have to feed them.

I agree, but I want to step backwards for a moment to see why this is the wrong thing to do.

First, I think this idea–that poor people can’t feed their kids–is extremely insulting to poor people. My mother was abandoned when I was 2 years old. She had to get an apartment, get a job, and work her way up the ladder. It was tough. One month she didn’t have enough money for rent. The church found out and lent her some. The next month she paid it back. She refused to accept charity, and she wanted me to know that she raised me herself.

She grew up in a house with no running water–even well into the 1960s. And yet she did well for herself, as did her sisters. Her parents coped.

There are readers of this blog who are on food stamps. I know some of their stories. One month one woman was desperate because the food stamps arrived late and she was worried. But it never occurred to her to not feed her kids. She visited a food bank temporarily, and then all was well again. They’re getting back on their feet after a period of unemployment.

I have another friend who is in subsidized housing with her five children. Her money is extremely tight. But she cooks from scratch and they never, ever go hungry. They may not have cable, but they have food.

Many studies have shown, too, that those with the least disposable income are not those on welfare or at the bottom of the income scale. It’s the “working poor”, those who don’t qualify for welfare, and thus don’t qualify for Medicare in the US or the drug/dental plan in Canada. They don’t have the government income supports, so they have to pay for everything. And they end up with less in their pockets than many who have such subsidies. But they press on because they want to raise their children themselves.

To say that the poor, who have access to welfare, food stamps, food banks, and churches, cannot feed their kids is excusing the poor from a basic responsibility. Our main responsibility, as parents, is to feed our kids first. And the income supports and charities are there, if one is motivated enough to find them. To not feed your kids is to not do one’s most basic responsibility. It is not a problem of poverty; it is a problem of culture.
I am reminded of some of the prophecies in Isaiah, where Isaiah repeatedly says that the famine will be so bad in the city that people will eat their own children. When I was a child myself and a teen reading that, I thought, “Oh, my goodness! How could anyone ever be that poor?” You see, I thought the passages were a description of their economic hardship.

What I only realized later, once I became a mother, was that those passages were not meant to describe how poor they were but how depraved they were. Honestly, would you ever be poor enough to eat your children? Nope. Inconceivable. If they were, the problem was not their poverty but their culture (which is probably why they were being judged by God in the first place).

We are in the same situation now. The problem is not income but culture. People would rather let the government feed their kids because then they have money for other things that they want more. And the more this happens, the more it becomes ingrained, “I do not have to do basic parenting functions. That is up to the government.”

If people stop doing some basic parenting functions, what makes you think they won’t stop doing more? Once you stop thinking of yourself as primarily responsible for your kids, and think that the schools are, or the government is, then you will stop doing all kinds of things that kids need you to do.

Being poor is not a crime. Most people who live in poverty do care for their children, and to say that the poor can’t feed their kids is an insult to the very hard-working and proud people throughout our continent who are struggling in this horrible economic time, but who are not giving up on their role as parents.

The culture is the problem. And by doing these feeding programs, we are only ingraining a culture that says, “somebody else should raise my kids.” How is that good for children?

If government stopped, people would be forced to feed their children again and take over some basic responsibilities. And if they didn’t do that, then yes, I think government should step in and take those kids.

Perhaps that’s stupid of me to say, because I know there aren’t enough foster homes, and I know many foster homes are horrible (although all the foster parents I know, and I know quite a few, do such a great job that the kids want to stay). But until there are consequences to not doing a basic job as a parent, we are not going to see the culture change.

A better idea, I’ve always thought, is to stop giving money in welfare cheques to single/teen moms, and instead set up homes where women live in community, with social workers. Say 10-15 rooms, with a woman and a baby in each, where they learn to cook together, balance the budget together, and play with their kids together. They would get some job training, too, and then after a few years they would be expected to fend for themselves.

To give a 17-year-old a welfare cheque that allows her to live in her own apartment if she gets pregnant is just stupid. If a 17-year-old knew that if she were pregnant, she’d have to go live in a home and actually work, maybe we’d see fewer kids becoming single mothers.

But that’s just my idea, and perhaps that’s naive, too. I don’t know what the solution is. But I do know there is something sick in our culture when the government thinks it has to feed 2,000,000 children 3 meals a day because parents can’t/won’t do it. That’s not a poverty issue. It’s a cultural issue. And we must, we simply must, change that culture.

UPDATE: A reader sent along this link for a volunteer group that’s not just running a soup kitchen; they’re teaching lower income people how to prepare produce, to help learn healthy eating. I think this is a far better model (private charity) than government help, and if someone were to individually want to help, this is a great place to start. I just don’t think government should have a role in it.

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Barbecue Man

'BARBECUE!' photo (c) 2007, Paul Boxley - license: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

Every Friday my syndicated column appears in a bunch of newspapers in southeastern Ontario. Here’s this week’s! Even if you’re not Canadian, I think you’ll say “my husband does that, too!”

Last week, as thunder rolled and gray clouds threatened, I performed the female mad dash better entitled “frantically bringing in the laundry from the line before the storm hits.” I assumed my husband felt the same reticence about the weather. “Can you still barbecue in this?” I asked him, quickly running through the alternate dinners we could make if burgers were off the menu. He sneered in reply. “Of course I can,” he said. “I’m a Canadian man.”

Canadian men barbecue. I suspect this attachment to the gas-powered device is largely because it comes with big tools. These aren’t wimpy tongs, the kind you use to mix up spinach and mandarin salad. Barbecuing is primitive, masculine stuff, even if his top of the line appliance cost $800 at Canadian Tire.

With barbecues, too, you get to stab meat. My husband loves cooking roasts, spearing them onto the metal spit. What’s more manly than roasting meat on a spit? When I cook a roast in the oven or the crockpot, I surround it with terrible things like carrots, or even worse, turnips or parsnips. Vegetables aren’t manly. And barbecuing on spits avoids them all together. It’s the perfect masculine endeavour.

And yet men, when barbecues are near, will condescend to wear clothing that they would never wear anywhere else. They are so proud of their ability to turn meat on a grill that they will don an apron, and, in the case of large parties, even a big, fluffy hat adorned with a message admonishing all present to “Kiss the Chef”. When one is near a barbecue, one’s manliness is guaranteed, so that wearing what would normally be considered feminine attire is perfectly acceptable, sort of like the way football players pat each other on the behind.

I also find it curious how barbecuing males will claim credit for the meal, even if it’s the woman who bought all the food, mixed the Caesar salad and the potato salad, sliced the pickles and the tomatoes, made up the lemonade, set the table, and prepared the dessert. He flipped a few burgers and everyone thanks him, rather than addressing their gratitude towards the woman and the kids who were scurrying around getting everything else ready.

But I don’t begrudge my husband the accolades, because if truth be known, I have never actually even turned our barbecue on. It is so much his domain that I’m lost if he’s on call and doesn’t come home when I’ve planned to have steaks. A few weeks ago my oldest daughter and one of her friends decided they would try to cook the chicken burgers, despite their lack of testosterone, since Keith decided not to grace us with his presence. But they didn’t know how to turn the barbecue on, either. So they called him, and he told them how to turn the knobs. And turn them they did.

A few minutes later Rebecca asked me, “isn’t there supposed to be a flame? I hear a hissing, but no flame.” Even without testosterone I know that’s a bad thing, so I quickly turned off the dials and forbade anyone from going near for at least fifteen minutes. My mother-in-law, who had received frantic phone calls from the girls asking what to do, continued to call our house at frequent intervals that night to ensure no one had actually been blown up.

And so we leave the cooking meat over a fire to my husband, who does prepare a very juicy roast. I may complement his offering with a bowl of vegetables anyway, and serve it with some salad, but it’s still his meal. He’s a Canadian man, and he’s proud. I think I’ll go kiss him.

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