This summer, four baseball players from the local minor league team called my place home. And a couple days into the season, our kitchen table picked up its own identity: The Family Table.
We gathered. We laughed. We told stories. We listened. We gave each other a hard time. We were unapologetically ourselves.
Every conversation added to it. Every inside joke. Every debate. Every dare.
No matter what, we showed up for each other.
None of us could create that alone.
Life moves pretty fast. The last game was played. The season ended. Bags were packed and the guys headed in different directions. The house got quieter.
But The Family Table didn't disappear. Its reach just grew beyond the kitchen.
The season brought us together for a short time. But what we built will stay with us always.
Pull up a chair. There’s room.
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