The Family Tradition of Monthly Dinners
Our family has always had a tradition of hosting monthly dinners, a custom that has been passed down through generations. It all began with my grandmother, who started bringing together her siblings for meals, a practice that not only fed their bodies but also strengthened their familial bonds.
As time passed, my father and his siblings continued this tradition, inviting each other over for dinner every month. These weren’t just typical gatherings—my dad would go all out with decorations, and my mom would ensure there was a variety of delicious dishes on the table. I have vivid memories of waiting for those monthly dinners, excited to see my cousins and enjoy the warmth of family. Even when Dad ordered pizza one time, it turned into one of our most memorable nights.
Now that my siblings and I are adults, we continue this tradition. We take turns hosting, and even though the gatherings have become a bit more formal, they still hold the same warmth and joy that they always did.
Megan’s Effort and the First Signs of Criticism
When my wife, Megan, first joined our family dinners, she was excited about being part of something so special. She loved the idea of cooking for everyone, and at first, I did most of the cooking, but Megan insisted on taking over. “You know I find cooking to be very therapeutic, babe,” she said, reassuring me. It was a gesture that reflected her caring nature.
Everything seemed perfect—until we hosted a dinner at our house, and Megan cooked the food. The criticisms began almost immediately.
“I knew it!” Angela exclaimed. “I was wondering why the food tastes so off today. It’s just… so bland!”
Dan chimed in, “Why is the chicken so dry?”
Mom added, “Maybe use less seasoning next time.”
Megan, who had put so much effort into preparing the meal, stood there, visibly hurt. I couldn’t understand why they were being so harsh. In my eyes, the meal was fantastic, and it seemed unfair that Megan was receiving such harsh comments.
Megan’s Reaction and the Strain on Our Marriage
That night, I found Megan crying in the bedroom, her emotions getting the best of her after the cruel remarks from my family. “Only David said that,” she sobbed, her voice barely audible. “Everyone else hated it. I won’t cook for them again.”
I held her close, reassuring her that her cooking was wonderful. “Your cooking was amazing. I promise. Even David loved it,” I said, trying to comfort her. But it was clear that the sting of my family’s words was deep. I told her not to let them get to her, to stay strong, and not let their negativity affect her self-worth.
Despite my attempt to console her, the pressure of those comments lingered, and Megan eventually agreed to cook again for the next family dinner. Unfortunately, this time, the situation became even worse.
The Second Dinner and Worse Criticisms
For the next family dinner, Megan decided to make my mom’s favorite roasted chicken with a side of veggies, along with the red sauce pasta Angela adored. Megan spent hours perfecting her dishes, following online recipes in the hopes that my family would finally appreciate her efforts.
But when the meal was served, it seemed like the criticism only escalated.
“I don’t think you should ever make this pasta again, Meg,” Angela said, shaking her head. “It tastes awful.”
“I’ll send you my recipe tonight,” Mom said, barely disguising her disgust, even spitting out a piece of chicken. “This isn’t what I’d call roasted chicken.”
Megan stood in silence, unable to process the hurtful words from my own family. I followed her into the kitchen, and it didn’t take long before I could see that she was on the verge of tears.
“It’s not fair,” I said, trying to make sense of the situation. “Why are they treating you like this?”
“I made the pasta Angela loves, and she doesn’t even like it. What am I supposed to do?” Megan whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.
Confronting My Family and Standing Up for Megan
That’s when I overheard a conversation that made my blood boil.
“She’s not even trying,” Mom muttered.
“Didn’t she learn from last time?” my father’s voice echoed through the room.
I couldn’t stay quiet any longer. I rushed into the dining room to confront my family.
“Can’t you guys be nice to her? What’s with all this drama?” I said, my voice shaking with anger. “Why can’t you just appreciate her a bit? She always works so hard to cook for you guys!”
But instead of realizing their mistakes, my family doubled down on their harshness.
“Really?” Angela raised an eyebrow. “Then why can’t she ever get anything right?”
“If she cooked better, we wouldn’t have to complain,” Mom scoffed.
I was frustrated, but I knew arguing was futile. I returned to the kitchen, where Megan stood silently, her arms crossed in frustration.
“They never complained when you cooked,” she said softly. “Are they doing this on purpose?”
