Rule #24: Eat Dinner as a Family
My father traveled a great deal when I was young, but when he was in town, we always ate dinner as a family. I don’t recall many of the meals themselves, but I can fondly remember hundreds of the conversations. Sometimes my parents would quiz me on world capitals or some other trivia, which often deteriorated rapidly into a game of “Stump the Dad.” My father never lacked an answer and usually delivered it with such certainty that you’d believe the capital of Switzerland was Zurich—until you could find an encyclopedia to prove him wrong. And even after presenting definitive proof, he would argue we were using a 1968 edition of the Britannica and it had changed in early 1969. He said it so convincingly that, even now, I’m not entirely certain.
I don’t think he would be as effective today, with everyone armed with an internet rifle at hand, but I am certain his arguments would still be sound, and his bluff would fool most people much of the time. These exchanges at the dinner table remain with me more vividly than any trip, event, or milestone—they were truly fun.
I believe these discussions helped me develop a strong sense of identity and worth. I knew I had a voice, and my parents helped me find it. (Yes, I admit it—this skill also helped me in dating and business. Convincing people that Zurich was the capital of Switzerland? Totally within my skill set.) Without this art of conversation, Bobbi might have become bored with me and never married me. The dinner table was training in the lost art of dialogue—or B.S., as some might call it.
There is something magical about the conversations at the dinner table. They tell everyone that you have thoughts of your own, and the friendly forum of a family reinforces your sense of worth. Sharing accomplishments, discoveries, and even struggles turns mere existence into active engagement with life.
I know my habit of going around the table and asking, “What one thing exciting happened to you today?” sometimes annoyed you. I did it to show that your life mattered—that your presence was recognized and valued. Many people go through life thinking their daily actions don’t really matter. In the Hill household, at least, we knew that something you did each day mattered to someone.
Even when you weren’t interested in sharing, we still talked about small things: what you studied in science or what you ate at lunch. It didn’t matter what—it mattered that you had a voice.
As you grow older and start your own families and traditions, I ask you to consider this one. Our lives were hectic, and we could only manage a complete family dinner four or five times a week. I don’t regret waiting for someone from sports, work, or school. What I do regret are the missed opportunities to gather together. Of all the things we’ve done as a family, nothing has been as meaningful or impactful as sharing meals. It is a tradition worth preserving.
Even on cruises or family vacations, the dinners we shared were the most important moments—they made the trips special.
As a culture, we are drifting toward less personal communication. (See Rule #144: Don’t break up by text.) It’s too easy to hide behind a TV, iPhone, or iPad, reducing conversation to a string of witty, lightning-fast texts. Family dinners offer the opposite: a place to be heard.
Often our political debates raged across polar opposites of the spectrum. Yet the forum of discussion allowed us to understand that we could see things differently but still love and respect each other. I know Matthew will never love W, and I will never value Obama, but family dinners taught us that respectful dialogue strengthens relationships.
Follow this rule. Make family dinner a place to speak, to listen, and to be fully present.
By the way—Bern is the capital of Switzerland. (Look it up.)
Takeaway: Family dinners are more than meals—they’re a forum to be heard, to listen, and to build bonds that last a lifetime.
Love, Dad