Thanksgiving is about tradition, God help us

A pre-Thanksgiving phone call:

Adult son: But mother—

Mother: No. I want your family to be happy and do what you really want to do. If you don’t want to come over for a Thanksgiving meal, I understand---I don’t want anyone to feel they have to come on my account—

Adult son: But Mother, we thought just this once Deb would cook the turkey and you ----

Mother: I would rather spend Thanksgiving alone than with people who feel forced to sit at my table---the one your father ate at for 58 years.

Adult son: Mother, all I said was---

Mother: I heard you. I would rather sit here alone—on my couch— and eat a frozen turkey dinner than be with people who don’t want to be with me.

Adult son: Oh, Mother!

Mother: You know, I should just sell the house-- make everybody happy, give the money to the church and move into the Golden Gate retirement home then my children won’t have to take time out of their busy schedule----.

Adult son (voice catching in his throat): Now please Mother, I didn’t mean---

Mother: I’ll just go to The Home and make some real friends. You won’t be bothered by me anymore. I’ll be fine Honey. Really.

Adult son (clutching phone receiver, lying on the floor in a fetal position, sobbing): Momma----Mommy-----

Mother: When you come bring some bread. I’m out and I know you love my stuffing.

___________________________

And this is why an entire generation of young women cannot cook a turkey.


Every year new wives and daughters try to lift the burden of holiday cooking from the shoulders of our mothers and grandmothers only to be treated like a potted plant ( “Sweetheart, you just stand there in case I need something”).

Less you consider breaking with tradition you are reminded of your cousin Lindsey. She went rogue in ’98 when to her husband’ dismay she decided to bake the turkey herself. She studied books on the culinary preparation of turkey, took an on-line turkey baking course and even joined a Tuesday night support group. She prepared the turkey, set the oven to 350 degrees and let the bird cooked for two and half hours per instructions. No one knows what happened--- during it’s life maybe the bird snorted PCB’s or ate Teflon, who knows--- but it came out looking like a mummified Egyptian bird, it’s baked wings spread as though it had been terrorized at the moment of death. It would have taken the Jaws of Life to cut off a drumstick.

The mother-in-law retired to the living room while Italian music played in the background and the family took turns bowing and kissing the top of her right hand as Lindsey watched alone from a smoky kitchen. An In-law realized Lindsey was watching and quickly closed the door on this view of the family scene. Now Lindsey lives alone under a restraining order and has a very bad vermouth problem.

But still you want to contribute so you offer to bring a simple pie, but you may be walking into a mine field. The crust could come out burnt or soggy. Do you own a rolling pin? Is your marriage up to this? Suppose the filling tastes like dead hamsters?

For days you ponder the wisdom of baking a pie. You pray about this and then one night while flossing your teeth God sends you a vision of a Food Lion supermarket with its wonderful selection of pies-- in the frozen section.

You rinse your mouth and smile. Everything is going to be okay.

Happy Thanksgiving!