The thing Sam always hated about friends sleeping over was when they stayed for supper. Whenever possible, she tried to have them arrive after the evening meal. Sometimes, though, she’d have to suffer through the inevitable embarrassment of her mom “breaking bread.”
Mom never said anything as she took a roll, usually freshly baked that morning, and broke it in two, placing one half to her right and the other to her left. She had explained, when her children were young, that in ancient times breaking bread meant not only sharing a meal together but also peace between the parties that did so. There would be no fighting at her table. Meals would be peaceful. Anyone who broke the peace would be told to take their plate to the kitchen to eat.
None of Sam’s friends seemed to mind. In fact, most of them thought it was a cool idea and wished their parents would try it. Sam wanted to sink into a hole and disappear every time.
She never appreciated her mother’s tradition until she moved into her own apartment after moving away to university. The first time she had friends over, she made Mom’s famous spaghetti and meatballs, which she served with store-bought rolls. On an impulse, she grabbed one just as everyone was about to dig in. She broke it in two, just as her mother always did, laying the two halves on the table to either side of her plate.
“This is peace bread,” she said, shocked at how much her voice sounded like her mother’s. “While it lies on the table, we sit in peace. May we all enjoy this meal and company.”
Her new university friends raised their glasses in a toast. “To peace,” Geraldine said, grinning broadly. “Where did you learn such an amazing tradition?”
Sam’s face lit up in a radiant smile. “From the wisest woman I know,” she said, making a mental note to call home in the morning for Mom’s bread recipe.
My mind was wandering, as it’s sometimes wont to do and I was thinking about the origins of the term breaking bread. This story grew from those musings. Which now have me thinking about family traditions. I made this one up for the story, though I really like it and wish I had thought of it when my kids were young! Does your family practice a tradition you’d like to share? Tell me about it in the comments.
When our children were still at home, our tradition was to always eat dinner at the dining table, never in front of the television, so we could talk. Now our tradition is “no phones at the table.”
Our tradition became whoever complained was the new cook 🤣 Sweet story, Dascha