Happy Thanksgiving, Bro. I realize that you probably haven’t received the other letter I sent, but I’m feeling introspective today and wanted to talk. Jonathan’s family is here for Thanksgiving, and they’re all busy preparing a huge meal…it smells really good about now. We’re having the traditional feast: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, brown gravy, corn, green beans, cranberry sauce, deviled eggs, candied yams with melted marshmallows on top, rolls and pumpkin pie with cool whip. I’m being somewhat selfish by keeping to myself upstairs, but you’ve been on my mind ever since your letter arrived last week. I wish you were here, so we could hide out in my room and, perhaps, crack open a bottle of Jack Daniels while we swap Thanksgiving stories. I know that probably sounds maudlin, but it gives you an idea of my mood as I compose this letter. The older I get, the more sentimental I become at holidays.
Do you get a Turkey dinner for Thanksgiving? I hope so, Bro. Whereas I understand that the holiday isn’t just about being a glutton—it’s also about family, being thankful and reminiscing about the past year, etc—but a heaping plate of turkey and all the trimmings sure does a body good. I suspect that it has more to do with the tradition than the actual food. Even though it’s been over 20 years since we had a huge Thanksgiving with my grandparents, aunts and cousins, I miss those days when we’d all be together.
It seems that my grandparent’s house was always ringing with laughter and stories. The women would all be in the kitchen, fussing over the food and talking—the women in our family have always been the storytellers. The men would gather around the tv in the living room for a ballgame. Unlike the women, they only talked about sports, work and politics. And I distinctly remember the thick smoke and pungent smell of my Uncle Danny’s cigar as it drifted through the house and the faint scent of whiskey on my Uncle Bobby’s breath. Uncle Bobby was always red faced and especially jolly on Thanksgiving and Christmas. The men in our family were never emotionally accessible. In fact, I don’t remember my Uncle Danny ever speaking directly to me until I was in my 30s, even though he was present at every single holiday. It always made me nervous to have to be in the same room with the men, because there was an expectation that men were supposed to talk about hunting and football and women—all the things I wasn’t the least bit interested in and knew very little about. I distinctly remember when my cousin Timmy reached a certain age where he stopped playing with me and my brother and took up residence with the men. Timmy played football and ran track in high school, and he went on to join a fraternity in college. The transition was an easy move for him, but I never quite got there. I was always more comfortable swapping stories and talking shop in the kitchen.
Timmy, Cyd and I were inseparable back then. Come Thanksgiving, we were either camped out in the bedrooms upstairs or playing outside. We would play war and The Dukes of Hazard for hours on end, and the best place to play both of those games was in the colored graveyard next to the woods, which shared the property line with my Grandparents. The gravestones made for perfect shields against imaginary bullets, and the nearby woods seemed to have been designed with last minute retreats or surprise attacks in mind. There was also a huge mound of discarded plastic flowers and Styrofoam cubes in the far left corner, next to the woods, that was great for mountain climbing expeditions and archeology adventures. And the creek on the far side of the woods is where we would spend hours building a dam out of rocks in order to pool up the water until it was at least knee deep. Then, we’d come storming out of the woods, screaming battle cries and knocking over the fruits of our labor. We’d be gone so long that our parents would send the girls to find us, and we were always disappointed to put our war on hold just to eat. I suppose this is why I get so frustrated with young people today, who are always complaining that they’re bored and have nothing to do. What ever happened to the days when kids didn’t have to be forced to play outside? I suppose that was before computers and video games replaced imaginations.
As I stated before, our family doesn’t get together much anymore. Both of my grandparents have passed away, and it seems that each of our families have drifted into their own individual holiday traditions. Timmy has four kids of his own now and is getting ready to become a grandparent. He’s recently took over Uncle Danny’s sawmill and is a deacon at the Campbellsville Baptist Church. I really have very little in common with my cousins. In fact, the last time I saw Timmy was at my grandmother’s funeral, which was almost a decade ago. I saw my cousin Linda at the hospital, when I had my tonsils removed, and that was
because she’s a nurse’s aide. She didn’t even realize it was me until she walked in the room to take my temperature. My two aunts generally swing by the apartment twice a year—for Willow and Audrey’s birthdays. I know that it’s common for extended families to splinter and grow apart as marriages take place and grandchildren arrive on the scene, but it sure makes me sentimental for the old days. It also makes me wonder what the holidays will be like once my parents are gone. It used to scare me to think about spending the rest of my life alone, but Jonathan showed up and changed all that. I realize there are no guarantees in life, but it’s times like these that I regret never having kids. I imagine there’s a certain comfort in knowing that a part of you will be left to carry on your stories and traditions once you’re gone.
—resumed a couple of hours later
Well, the feast is over and Thanksgiving has once again come and gone. It never ceases to amaze me that we spend so much money, effort and time preparing a meal and then gorge it down in twenty minutes or less. I suspect that the essence of the holiday is really in the meticulous preparation, which leaves one plenty of time to contemplate all that he or she has to be thankful for. The meal, on the other hand, is the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. As with most holidays, it’s actually the rituals and traditions that mean the most. And I must say that this Thanksgiving will probably rank up there as one of the more special ones, as I spent the holiday away from my nuclear family but with my in laws. It was also the first time that Jonathan and I provided the food and hosted the meal, which makes me feel like I’ve finally graduated to manhood and should be allowed to take my proper place in the living room, with the men folk.
This year is also memorable because I have so much to be thankful for. Not only do I have a wonderful relationship with my family, but I’ve finally reached a place in my life where I’m comfortable with who and what I am. My family accepts me wholeheartedly, and I have two wonderful nieces who love me unconditionally. I’ve finally been lucky enough to find love and to begin establishing my own familial traditions and memories. And in this horrible economy, I have a job with a company that just keeps expanding and growing. I truly feel as though I’ve finally reached adulthood, and that I’ll be alright when the time comes for my parents to move on. Not that I’m in any hurry for them to go, but I’m less scared by the idea. I’m very grateful for all the special family memories of holidays and family relationships. Despite the dysfunction, I never once doubted that I was loved, and without me even realizing it, all those eccentric family members taught me the importance of family and what it truly means to become a man. As usual, I took a few trips down some winding roads before I reached that conclusion, but life has a way of eventually getting us back on track.
Well, I realize that this is a short letter, but I’ve enjoyed hanging out with you and chatting on Thanksgiving. I can’t wait to hear some of your own holiday memories. I miss reading your dreams and adventures. You have such a compelling voice as a writer and a creative knack for storytelling. Take care and write soon.
