When I Wanted to Lend a Hand, I Thought of a Chicken

self insemination kit

Updated: March 30, 2021

Originally Published: November 27, 2014

Growing up in New Jersey, our family gathered around the dinner table every night at 6 p.m. My father worked in paving while my mother pursued her degrees in art history. It wasn’t until I became an adult and settled in California with my own family that I truly appreciated how my parents managed to put a warm meal on the table for my brother Jake and me each evening. Dinner was a family affair; everyone had to pitch in.

My mother prepared hearty, one-pot meals that we affectionately dubbed names like “Sludge,” a mix of wide egg noodles, ground beef, and a random assortment of frozen veggies, or “Death Warmed Over,” a chicken and rice dish that was nearly palatable if it weren’t for the copious lima beans. My father took care of plating and clean-up duties.

“Death Warmed Over” could last us from Sunday through Wednesday, and I remember my relief when the last serving spoon scraped the bottom of the pot. Regardless of what was served, we gathered at 6 p.m. to share our daily news—the complaints, the exaggerations, the victories, and the setbacks. It was our time to lay it all out.

If anyone was late, they had to explain their absence. “Drivers ed with Mr. Smith.” “Soccer match against Edison High.” “Gravel delivery.” “Renaissance art in Italy.” It was important to show up for family dinner. Once our napkins were in our laps, we made an effort to be good company, even if we were tired or moody. Jokes, riddles, and stories from the day flowed freely, and sometimes Jake and I teamed up to make our parents laugh.

Now, as a parent, my husband grew up with dinners at 5:15 p.m. We have two kids of our own, and our lives are a whirlwind of activities. Often, it feels like all I do is say goodbye to my favorite people, “See you later, have a great day!” Until dinner time. We aim for 6 p.m., but sometimes it stretches to 7:30. I love hearing about the day’s happenings: who got in trouble at school, who has a crush, or who scored a goal. Our dinner time acts as a magnet, pulling us together when the day ends. Often, an extra soccer player or a friend joins us around the table.

Recently, my 8-year-old expressed a desire to help by slicing cucumbers for our salad. “Aren’t these cucumbers fantastic tonight?” he asked as we sat down. His older brother chimed in, “You cut them, right? Good job!” “Thanks for helping,” my husband replied.

Last winter, a neighbor of ours was diagnosed with colon cancer. His children attend school with mine, and I wanted to assist but felt unsure how. We did some carpooling and organized playdates, but I wanted to do more. One Thursday, while picking up a chicken for dinner, I decided to buy a second one and roast it for them. I delivered it hot to their porch just before dinner. They texted back their gratitude, and I began bringing them a meal every Thursday. When their treatment switched from chemotherapy to radiation, I started adding potatoes and vegetables, all packaged in a recyclable aluminum tray.

I learned their Thursday routine and would announce the delivery with a silly chicken joke or a simple “Cluck cluck.” Weeks passed, and I kept up my tradition. The meals I prepared were fresh, organic, and colorful—chicken seasoned with herbs and lemon, baked potatoes, sautéed greens, and vibrant salads. Everything I made for my family, I shared with theirs.

One Thursday, I arrived to find the front door open, and my neighbor and his son were deep in conversation about Samuel Beckett’s plays—no kidding! I handed over the meal and hugged my neighbor, who was recovering from surgery. His wife and daughter joined the discussion, and it warmed my heart to see him nestled between them. I didn’t stay to see whether they ate right away or saved the meal for later. It didn’t matter. When hunger called, they could peel back the foil and dig in without the fuss of cooking.

As I walked home to my own family, I felt a sense of fulfillment in being able to help my neighbors. I like to think that the meals I drop off serve as a family magnet for them, just as they do for us. Instead of worrying about cooking and cleaning, at least on Thursdays, they can focus on enjoying each other’s company and sharing a laugh, similar to the way Jake and I did growing up.

Since I began this venture nearly a year ago, I’ve discovered that the joy of family dinners multiplies when shared between two families. This Thanksgiving, my neighbors will be celebrating with friends, but next Thursday, I’ll be back with another meal.

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In summary, gathering around the dinner table—whether with family or friends—creates connections that nourish our souls. The love and effort we put into our meals not only feed our bodies but also strengthen our bonds.