It’s funny to be back at the Kid’s Table. It’s even funnier to be at a meal where the “Kid’s Table” means anyone under the age of 60. SIXTY!!!

• Who: Dan, Lisa, Jeff, (cousin) Melanie, Pat ‘mom’ Kalik, and the rest of Dan’s fam (and old family friends)—Aunt Millie, Uncle Tom, Grandpa Larry…
• Where: 84th and Madison—NYC
• What: Pasta salad, green salad, cheese/crackers, a GIANT whole salmon, cans and cans of diet coke

Never have I felt so youthful as I did at Dan’s Aunt Millie (and Uncle Tom)’s house on Sunday afternoon. When most of your social interactions are with people your own age, it’s nice sometimes to have a conversation with someone five decades your senior to get a different perspective on what’s going on in the world. Suddenly, what you thought was a standard conversation about how long it took to get across town because of some road race, turns into a discussion of how long it took get places BEFORE the BQE ever existed. Or a story about a recent trip to Florida suddenly morphs into an analysis of whether someones grand-niece should just settle for a short man since ‘we’ve all seen there are no tall boys in Coral Gables.’

But then, sometimes being the youngest guest in the room takes a different turn when the person to your left takes out their iphone (programmed to size 40 font, but programmed none the less), and shows you a new app they just downloaded—and it’s one that you kind of want yourself. And sometimes the delivery guy forgets to bring the sauce for the giant larger-than-life salmon that’s staring up at you from the buffet—and while you would probably just dump a pile of mustard on the plate someone in the room knows the exact 5 ingredients to pick up at the corner store and whips up something magnifique.

Although we weren’t at Millie’s under the most happy of circumstances, there is something very special about both the old and the young (respectively) coming together for a meal to honor someone close to both the old, and the young (respectively). Some of us may have fond memories of the days when Florida was crawling with tall, handsome Jewish men, and some of us have seen enough episodes of the Real Housewives of Miami to doubt that time ever existed. In the end, though, it doesn’t matter if you’re a grandson or a grandfather, or just an old friend from down the street, it’s still nice to be together.