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The Spinner Plate
By Lori Broadfoot
It was defective
and should have been replaced when we first bought the dishes, but by the time we discovered the dinner plate's flaw, the
packaging and receipt had long been discarded.
Whenever anyone applied the touch of an eating utensil to the
plate, a small bulge on the bottom caused it to spin freely. This required the unfortunate diner to hold the plate in
place whenever he or she tried to manipulate fork and knife in unison. Even though it was one of eight, and there were
only four of us, the plate turned up on the table with annoying regularity. We began to devise sneaky ways of avoiding
ending up with the dreaded Spinner Plate at our place at the table.
The children began to "offer" to set the
table as a ruse for appointing both the plate's place and theirs at the table. The last one seated would automatically
test the stability of his or her plate, which often set off a series of cries: "Aaaww! I had it last night. Aren't
there any other clean plates? I didn't want to sit here anyway!"
Having
heard the whines and complaints one too many times, my husband decided one evening to try to put an end to the sniveling, or
at least compensate the plate's unlucky recipient each time it came into use.
"From now on," he announced, "anyone
caught with the Spinner Plate will receive extra kisses." He then turned to that evening's recipient, our daughter,
and kissed her heartily all over both cheeks. He invited our son and I to do the same. No longer feeling like
the helpless victim of defective dinnerware, our daughter felt special and it was the beginning of a complete about-face in
our attitudes toward the Spinner Plate.
The children still tried to manipulate the plate's positioning, but now for a different reason. After
everyone was seated, one of them would smile smugly and proclaim, "I've got the Spinner Plate" and give the plate a whirl,
as if someone might dispute it. If one of the family was known to have had a particularly trying day, the Spinner Plate
was purposely set at his or her place. After a round of kisses, dinner would begin with troubles eased, and perhaps
even forgotten.
The Spinner Plate eventually met an early
demise, perhaps from its more frequent use, and so ended the ritual of extra kisses at the dinner table. I hadn't realized
the significance of the plate's loss until recently. We were dining out with our children and as the waiter placed my
husband's plate in front of him, it gave a familiar spin. The children's faces lit up as I bestowed "extra" kisses to
their father, and I resolved to find a replacement for our Spinner Plate as soon as I could. An everyday "something"
that would serve as a reminder to express the affection we feel for one another.
We all need extra kisses from time to time.
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