If you wanted dinner, you had to accept the accompanying interrogation that would have violated my Miranda rights if I had done something more than attempt to bathe the neighbor's parakeet. There was no escaping the nightly confrontation with accountability.

But that kitchen table was not just a source of fear, it was my security blanket. No matter how rough the day's tauntings had been and no matter how discouraged I was over long division, the kitchen table and its adult caretakers were there every night to comfort and support.

The fear generated by the Cuban missile crisis and my fourth air-raid drill in a week disappeared in the daily certainty of a family gathered around that table graced with Del Monte canned peas, cloverleaf rolls, and oleo (margarine). Regardless of the day's schedule or demands, the kitchen table brought us back together for roll call at 6:00 P.M. every night.

And following my dismal task of doing dishes at a time when automatic dishwashers were country club novelties, I returned to the kitchen table to sweat bullets over homework. I read "Dick, Jane, and Spot" stories aloud to my father, who then did his "homework" while I wrote and rewrote the math tables I carry in my mind even today.

Each morning that table sent me off fed and duly inspected for clean fingernails and pressed Bobbie Brooks. No one left that table without a review of the day's events and assigned chores. That kitchen table nurtured. It was my constancy amid the insecurities of crooked teeth, more freckles than skin, and geography bees on state capitals.

Years have gone by since my days of Black Watch plaid and white anklets. Life has given me more challenges, joy, and love than I could have fathomed as my legs shook beneath that kitchen table when faced with parental inquiries. When I return to my parents' home to visit, I find myself lingering after breakfast to enjoy their company around the kitchen table. After dinner, the dishes wait as my father and I discuss everything from the Jackie Onassis estate auction to potty-training.

And then shortly after we restore the kitchen to its spotless pre-dinner state, my children return. We sit together, three generations, as Breyer's ice cream and Hershey's syrup melt, drip, and stick to new tiny faces at that old table.

They tell Grandpa of their spelling tests and which word they missed. And Grandpa explains, "Your mother missed the same word. We sat right here and reviewed it. She still got it wrong."

Perhaps it's in the genes. Or perhaps it is that kitchen table. That magical simple place where I learned responsibility and felt love and security.

As I struggle each night to get dinner on my kitchen table and round up my children from the four corners of our neighborhood, I wonder why I just don't send them to their rooms with a chicken pot pie and Wheel of Fortune. I don't because I am giving them the gift of the kitchen table.

In all the treatises on parenting, in all the psychological studies on child development, and in all the data on self-esteem, this humble key to rearing children is overlooked.

A recent survey revealed that only half of our teenagers eat dinner on a regular basis with their parents. Ninety-eight percent of female high school students who live with their birth parents go on to college. Teenagers who don't have dinner with their families are four times as likely to have premarital sex.

Last year my daughter said she could only find one other student in her homeroom who had dinner each night at the kitchen table with her family.

They are both honor students. The other kids, my daughter explained, "make something in the microwave and then head to their rooms to watch TV." They have no company, no questions-just Wheel of Fortune, and the grades to show for it. How sad that not all children's lives are touched by the miracle of childhood. There's something about a kitchen table.2 Notice how the traditions around this table are renewing to this woman and her family. They're physically renewing-but they are mentally, spiritually, and socially renewing as well.

I know one family that builds spiritual renewal into their family dinner by having their mission statement on the wall near their dining table. They often will talk about some aspect of it as they discuss the challenges of the day. A good percentage of families build in spiritual renewal by having prayer before they eat.

Many families also build mental renewal into the family dinner by using it as a time to share the learnings of the day. I know of one family that has "one-minute speeches" during dinner. They give a family member a topic-anything from honesty to the funniest thing that happened that day-and the person speaks for one minute on it. This not only provides interesting conversation and keeps everyone entertained and often "cracking up," but it also builds mental and verbal skills.

Another family keeps a set of encyclopedias by the dinner table. When anyone asks a question, they look up the answer on the spot. They once had a visitor from Delaware who mentioned that his state was very small.

"How small is it?" someone wondered. So they went to the encyclopedia and discovered that Delaware is two thousand square miles.

"Is that really small?" someone else asked. They looked up some other states. Alabama, they discovered, was about fifty-two thousand square miles-26 times as big as Delaware. Texas was over 131 times as big as Delaware. And, of course, Delaware was a giant compared to Rhode Island, which was only twelve hundred square miles!

There is so much to know! Which state is the Peach State? Does it produce the most peaches? How much can a bird eat in a day compared to its body weight? How big is a whale compared to an elephant?

While it may not be very important for children to know just how big each state is, it is extremely important for them to love learning. And when they find that learning is exciting and that the adults in their life love to learn, they become enthusiastic learners.

There are many things you can do to make dinnertime a time of mental renewal. You can occasionally invite interesting guests to share your meal and conversation. You can play a classical music selection and talk about the work and the life of the composer as you eat. You can borrow a different work of art from the library each week, hang it on the wall by your dining table, and talk about the work and the artist. The very food itself gives you the opportunity to talk about manners, nutrition, or different countries and their cuisines and customs.

Cynthia (daughter): Mom always felt the dinner hour was really important. We always had dinner together, and everyone was always there. Mom was also really big on educating us during dinner. Two or three nights a week we'd have a theme. She would have some centerpiece, and we would have a discussion, usually correlating with the current holiday or event. On the Fourth of July, for example, she'd read two or three things about Patrick Henry or about the Declaration of Independence. Whatever holiday or special thing was coming up, she would share something educational about it, and then we'd have a family discussion. Sometimes we'd sit there talking for an hour and a half, eating and talking. This got to be really fun when we were in high school and college and could really talk about issues and other things. Those dinner table conversations got us interested in education and in the world.

David (son): I remember a time when I was going through a difficult time in a relationship with a girl who was not good for me. One night when we were at the dinner table, everyone started talking about people who had not been good for them and how they got out of difficult situations. They shared their feelings about how good it was to get out of those situations.

It was all geared toward me, but I had no idea at the time. I didn't even know what was going on until later. I just thought it was a family dinner. The comments were good, and they seemed very applicable to my situation. Later I realized what a great thing it was to have this support system of people who genuinely cared about me and my welfare and my success.

Sometimes a family dinner can be expanded to include an additional purpose, such as showing appreciation and giving service.

Colleen (daughter): One of the things I really enjoyed was our "favorite teacher" dinners. Mom and Dad were very involved in the education process. They knew all our teachers and how we were doing in each class, and they wanted our teachers to know that we appreciated them. So every couple of years Mom would ask each of the children who their favorite teacher was that year. Then she made a list and sent them an invitation to dinner at our house. It was a dress-up dinner. She used her best china and made it really special. Each of us would sit by our teacher and have dinner with him or her. It got to be funny after a while because the teachers knew about this dinner and each year would hope to be the favorite teacher.

Maria (daughter): I remember one year inviting Joyce Nelson, an English teacher from Provo High. I was twenty-one at the time. Several of us had had her as our teacher, and we all celebrated her. We each told what she had done for us. When my turn came, I said, "I am an English major today because of you. You influenced me to go into English because of the literature we read and what you said and did." The teachers who were invited were thrilled because teachers usually don't get that kind of appreciation.

The dinner table gives you the perfect opportunity to create such a renewing tradition because of the food. As one of our daughters said, "It seems as though many important traditions are surrounded by food, food, food. Food is the key. Everyone loves to have good food." With good food, good company, and good discussion, the family dinner tradition is hard to beat.

Family Vacations

Relaxation and fun are part of our family mission statement, and I know of no more renewing force in a family than a family vacation. Planning for it, anticipating it, and thinking about it-as well as discussing what happened on our last vacation and laughing about the fun times and the dumb times we had-are enormously renewing to our family. Every few years we plan a very special kind of vacation.

Sandra: In building traditions I have always felt that it's important to teach children patriotism. Most children learn the Pledge of Allegiance at an early age. They hold their hands over their hearts when the flag goes by. At parades they hear the bands playing the anthems of the Navy, Air Force, and Army. They learn patriotic songs and perform in programs at school celebrating the Fourth of July. I believe they need to know about the men who died in the wars and fought for the principles they believed in. They need to understand how our country began, how the Constitution was written, and the price that was paid by the men who signed the Declaration of Independence.

For many years we talked about the possibility of going to some of the famous historic sites in Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, and New York, where many of the events of the American Revolution happened: the Old Church in Boston (where the lantern was held in the window telling of the arrival of the British-"One if by land, two if by sea"), the Freedom Trail, the Liberty Bell, the homes of the famous patriots, the hovels and remaining barracks where George Washington mobilized and trained his hungry, frozen army, and Independence Hall (where the Declaration of Independence was signed).

We talked about and planned this trip for many years. Finally, during America's bicentennial in 1976, we decided to do it. We rented a motor home, and, armed with books, tapes, music, and information, we set forth. I had recently read the book Those Who Love by Irving Stone. It was the love story of John and Abigail Adams and their great sacrifices and contributions during this period of unrest and revolution. I was uplifted and inspired by their patriotism and devotion to this country. I had the teenagers and older children read it also, knowing that they would feel likewise.

We had only a day and a half in Philadelphia, but we planned accordingly. We saw the Liberty Bell and visited the chambers of the Continental Congress. On the lawns outside the building was an outdoor summer theater presenting 1776, the prize-winning musical reenacting the signing of the Declaration of Independence and making us familiar with the roles of the famous men and women involved-including John and Abigail Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson and his wife, Martha, Richard Henry Lee, John Hancock, and George Washington.

The program included these inspiring words: "These were not wild-eyed, rabble-rousing ruffians. They were soft-spoken men of means and education-lawyers and jurists, merchants, farmers, and large plantation owners, men of means, well educated. They had security, but they valued liberty more. Standing tall, straight, and unwavering, they pledged: 'For the support of this declaration with a firm reliance on the protection of the Divine Providence we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.' They gave us an independent America, and they did sacrifice their lives, their fortunes, and their families."

The location, the music, and the theater all combined to make this an evening we will never forget. Patriotism burned in our hearts. One son said he wanted to be an architect and build a monument to John and Abigail Adams so that no one would ever forget what they did for us. Another wanted to be a musician and write songs in their honor. We were all changed: inspired, uplifted, patriots forever!

There were moments that made our family vacation wonderful! But I have to say that there were also other moments which were . . . well, less inspiring, to say the least.

We had planned that every morning one of us would drive while the other sat at the table in the motor home with the children, discussing what we would see that day and presenting lessons on important subjects associated with those sights. Our planning was extensive and our spirits high. We were truly psyched for a magnificent four-to-five-week trip around the country.

But in one sense our trip turned out to be the most miserable time we'd ever spent together. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. Things were constantly breaking down, and we were all mechanical klutzes and could fix nothing. We probably had only one or two of the discussions we'd planned; instead we spent most of our time repairing things that were broken or trying to get other people to fix them during holiday periods when no one wanted to get involved in repairs.

It was July. The weather was hot and humid. The air conditioner and the generator that drove it were constantly breaking down. We were frequently lost, either searching for campgrounds or finding them filled. We often ended up in the back of a service station or in a church parking lot rather than in the trailer court or beautifully appointed campground we had envisioned.

On the Fourth of July, the air conditioner quit entirely. We pulled into a service station to get some help, but the mechanic said, "We don't work on anything like that, and particularly on a holiday. In fact, I don't think you'll find anyplace in town where you can get any help." The temperature was 100 degrees and the humidity about 98 percent. We were dripping in sweat. Everyone was close to tears.

Then all of a sudden somebody started to laugh. Then everyone started to laugh. And we laughed so hard we couldn't stop laughing. We have never laughed that much before or since. We asked the man (who undoubtedly thought we were crazy) for directions to the nearest amusement park. He told us which way to go, and we headed out to have some fun.

During the remainder of the trip we saw some interesting historical sites, but in each area we also sought out the local amusement parks. When we headed home, we were better authorities on the amusement parks of America than on the historical sites. In fact, only one morning on the entire trip did we have the kind of family meeting we had dreamed we would have each day. But we had a glorious time-one we will never forget. We came back renewed-physically, socially, and at least somewhat mentally.

It has always amazed Sandra and me that, despite broken air conditioners, flat tires, mosquitoes, forgotten articles of clothing, arguments over who sat where and what we were going to do, hours-late departures, and myriad other complications, those times together are what our family members remember and talk about.

"Boy, didn't we have fun that year at Six Flags!"

"Remember the time you thought we were lost?"

"I can't stop laughing when I think about you falling in the creek that year."

"Do you remember the look on her face when you dropped that hamburger?"

The added social dimension of "family" makes doing everything more exciting and more fun because you have someone special to share it with. In fact, those family bonds are often even more important than the event itself.

Jenny (daughter): I remember one time when Dad decided he would take me and my little brother camping. Our family has never been big on camping; in fact, we didn't know anything about it. But he was determined to make it a good experience.

Absolutely everything went wrong. We burned our tinfoil dinners, and it poured rain throughout the night until our tent collapsed and our sleeping bags were soaked clear through. My dad woke us up around 2:00 A.M., and we gathered up our stuff and headed home.

The next day we laughed-and we continue to laugh-about that "miserable" experience. Despite the disasters, it created a sense of bonding. We went through it together, and we had a common experience we could look back on and talk about.

I know one family who had planned for years to go to Disneyland. They had saved the money and scheduled the time to go. But three weeks before the departure date, a feeling of gloom seemed to settle in their home.

Finally, at dinner one evening, the seventeen-year-old son blurted out, "Why do we have to go to Disneyland?"

This question took the father by surprise. "What do you mean by that?" he replied. Then his eyes narrowed. "Have you and your friends planned something? It seems that nothing we plan in the family is as important to you as being with your friends."

"It isn't that," the son replied, looking down at his plate.

After a moment his sister said softly, "I know what Jed means, and I don't want to go to Disneyland, either."

The father sat in stunned silence. Then his wife put her hand on his arm. "Your brother phoned today and told us his children are really sad that we're going to miss Kenley Creek this year to go to Disneyland. I think that is what's bothering the children."

Then everyone started talking. "We want to see our cousins!" they all cried. "That's more important than going to Disneyland!"

The father replied, "Hey, I want to see the family, too. I'd really like to spend some time with my brothers and sisters, but I thought you all wanted to go to Disneyland. Since we go to Kenley Creek every year, I decided this time we'd do what you wanted to do."

The seventeen-year-old replied, "So can we change our plans, Dad?"

They did. And everyone was happy.

This father later told me the story of Kenley Creek.

When my father and mother were young, we didn't have much money. We couldn't go on vacation to any place that cost a lot. So every year Mom and Dad would pack the wooden grub box with all kinds of food. We'd tie the old canvas tent to the top of the 1947 Ford. All the children would pile in like sardines in a can, and off we would go to the mountains and to Kenley Creek. We did that every year.

After my older brother got married-his wife was sort of a fancy rich girl who had been all over the country on vacations-we didn't think they would go with us to Kenley Creek. But they did, and she had the time of her life.

One by one we all got married, and every summer at a certain time we would all drive up to Kenley Creek.

The year after Dad died, we wondered if we should go. Mom said that Dad would want us to go and he'd be there with us, so we all went.

The years passed, and each of us had children. Still we all gathered each year at Kenley Creek. Each night under the moonlight of the Kenley Creek sky, my brother would play polkas on his accordion and all the kids would dance with their cousins.

After Mom died, it seemed as if she and Dad came back and sat by the campfire with all of us every year at Kenley Creek, in the quiet of the mountain evenings. With the eyes of our hearts we could see them smile as they watched the grandkids dance and eat the watermelon that had been cooled in the cold waters of the stream.

Our time at Kenley Creek always renewed us as a family. We loved one another more and more as the years went by.

Any family vacation can be a great renewing experience, but many families-including our own-have found an added dimension of renewal in going back to the same place year after year.

In our family the place is a cabin at Hebgen Lake in Montana, about twenty miles outside West Yellowstone. Spending part of the summer there is a tradition started by my grandfather some forty-five years ago. He had a heart attack, and in order to recuperate, he went to Snake River and then to Hebgen Lake. That area was the best medicine for him. He started with a cabin on the river, and then he put a trailer and later a cabin by the lake. Every summer after that he went there, and he always invited his family to go with him. There are several cabins up there now, and at least five hundred descendants go there regularly.

The word "Hebgen" has become something of an intergenerational family mission statement. It means family love, unity, service, and joy to each of us in the family. At Hebgen the children and grandchildren learned to run on the scalding sand, catch frogs under the dock, build sand castles on the shores of the lake, swim in the ice-cold glacier waters, catch rainbow trout, spot moose drinking at the shore of the meadow, play volleyball on the beach, and follow bear tracks. It's been the scene for many late-night bonfires, singing around the fire, summer romances, the Playmill Theater, shopping in West Yellowstone, and enjoying the beautiful green forests and starry nights. Up until ten years ago, there was no telephone or television there. I'm even wondering now whether we ought to go back to those "good old days."

Stephen (son): When I was younger, we used to spend three weeks every summer at Hebgen. It was so enjoyable, I used to wish I could be there all summer. I especially remember the opportunities it gave me to spend time with one or both of my parents or one of my brothers or sisters. We'd do anything from fishing to riding motorcycles, from water-skiing to canoeing. It was just natural to pair up and do things together. And everybody loved it. You'd miss anything but Hebgen.

Sean (son): I remember going to Hebgen one year when I was in college. The football season was starting in just a couple of weeks. There was a lot of pressure coming. So one morning I went up to a place our family named Prayer Rock. It's a big rock on the hill that overlooks the entire lake. The sun was just coming up, and there was a cool breeze. The lake was beautiful. I spent several hours up there just gathering myself, bracing myself for the season coming up. I felt that this was kind of my last moment of peace before the onslaught of war. Many times during the season-when it was wild and hectic and there was so much pressure-I would visualize that scene of being on top of the mountain, being calm and peaceful. It steadied me. It was, in a sense, kind of like returning home.

Joshua (son): Since I'm the youngest at home, Mom always uses me to help carry out her family schemes, projects, and traditions.

Among other things I get drafted to help out with the traditional Pirate Treasure Hunt that takes place at our family vacation every summer in Hebgen Lake. We sneak into West Yellowstone and "raid" the dollar stores, buying all kinds of small dollar items to fill our pirate's chest. We get balls, Slinkies, magic ink, bear bells, Indian canoes, plastic handcuffs, rabbit foot chains, rubber knives, bow-and-arrow sets, coin purses, Yo-yo's, sling-shots, Indian bead jewelry-something for everyone. Then the chest is loaded, wrapped in huge black garbage bags, and piled into the boat-along with shovels, a pirate flag, and handwritten clues burned at the edges to look old and authentic (another one of my jobs).

After beaching the boat on what we call Goat Island, we search for a place on the beach to bury the treasure. We cover the hiding place with clean sand and throw brush on it so that it looks untouched. Finally, we run all over the island leaving clues in trees and shrubs and under rocks. Then we scatter coins-pennies, nickels, dimes, and even silver dollars-for the little kids to find.

Half dead, we return to the mobs of kids at the beach, waving an old battered pirate flag with its black skull and bones logo and hysterically screaming (that's Mom's job) that we scared off some pirates who left their buried treasure behind.

Everyone-kids, grownups, and dogs-piles into boats, canoes, dinghies, inner tubes, and Ski-Doos and invades the island. We scramble and run from clue to clue until the treasure is discovered, the loot is distributed, and the tradition is complete.

These kinds of traditional vacations seem to give an added sense of stability and connection. And it's great if you can return to one place year after year.

But, again, it isn't so much where you go as that you're together and doing things that create strong family ties. The tradition of family vacations builds renewing memories that, as someone put it, "bloom forever in the garden of the heart."

Birthdays

One year when our son Stephen had started a new job, his wife, Jeri, gave him a very unusual birthday gift. She said: Because of moving, buying a house, paying off school debts, starting a new and challenging job, and other pressures of life, my husband was under tremendous stress. I knew the best way to reduce this stress was for him to be around his brother David. No one made him relax more. They were crazy together! They always had so much fun.

So for Stephen's birthday I bought an airplane ticket for David to come and be with him for the weekend. I kept this gift as a surprise, telling my husband we would attend a professional basketball game that was scheduled on his birthday, and sometime during the game I would give him a very special gift.

About halftime, his beloved brother arrived, announcing, "Surprise, I'm your birthday present," to the amazement of my husband.

For the next twenty-four hours these two had the most wonderful celebration-laughing, playing, and talking nonstop. I just stayed out of their way. I have never seen such pure fun as they generated together.

When David left, it was as if he took all the stress with him, and my husband was completely renewed.

Birthdays can be a wonderful time to express love and affirm family members-to celebrate the fact that they're here and part of your family. And traditions around birthdays can be very renewing.

In our own family, birthdays are tremendously important. Over the years we haven't really had birthdays, we've had birth weeks. For the entire week we would try to focus on letting our children know how special they are to us. We would have rooms decorated with signs and balloons, presents at breakfast, a "friend" party, a special dinner out with Mom and Dad, and dinner with the extended family, complete with the person's favorite meal, favorite cake, and compliments: "I love Cynthia because she is so spontaneous. She'll go to a movie with you at the drop of a hat."

"Maria is so well read that whenever you need a quote, you just have to call her up and ask her, and she'll come up with four or five excellent things to choose from."