The Little Table by Jeff (1995)

Rejected 1. To refuse to recognize or give affection to (a person). I think everyone has felt rejected sometime in there lives. It is one of the worst feelings that anyone can experience. It has many forms and ways of being expressed. The type of rejection I hate the most is when people don’t recognize you are there. One example of this is when a person comes to a new school. Many times little groups or clicks already exist and are not very open to new comers. They just ignore you, pretending not to see you. You know they see you and they know it too, but they don’t think of how you feel. There are many other forms of rejection which I will not mention, but I will tell you a story about a time when I felt the exact same kind of rejection stated above.

This story started about eight years ago and lasted until last November. The rejection was from my own family, the worst possible source. Not only my close family, but also my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Luckily it only happened once a year. Once a gear on the same day at the same time at the same place by the same people. It was at Thanksgiving dinner. It occurred over and over again, year after year. I call it the little table. It was a table in a separate room then the main dinning table. The chairs where small and uncomfortable and the table was not tall enough for a person my side.

A long time ago when I was just a little tike I sat at the big table. I had older cousins and younger cousins but none around my age. A couple of the older cousins got married and of course there wives would get to sit at the table with them so the rest of the family pushed me, there own flesh and blood, on to the little table with my younger cousins. The first couple of years it was OK, but when I got older it got annoying. I knew my family loved me but they all failed to recognize that the table was six sizes to small for me and they failed to recognize that I had to eat with out talking because a bunch of little kids don’t hold a dinner conversation very well. I thought they would eventually see this, but they didn’t. Last year I had enough so I told the head cook, my grandmother, that I would like to sit at the table with the older relatives. I got a spot on the corner. It isn’t the best but now I have my foot in the door.