La La's Game (Happy Thanksgiving)

On Thanksgiving morning this year I woke up a little late, and when I got downstairs Cari had already made coffee and was preparing her twice-baked sweet potatoes along with her deviled eggs to take over to Mom’s later in the day.

Cari is 7 and 1/2 months pregnant right now and she looked so beautiful in her apron, which was partially covered in baking flour and was doing its best to conceal the pumpkin-sized belly underneath.

Since she had a head start on me, and I was not cooking anything for Thanksgiving this year, I decided my job would be to blow leaves and water the lawn.  

It was an absolutely glorious November morning.  The air was cool and dry and still.  The sun hit my back and shoulders, and it warmed me all the way through.  Since I am protective of my hearing, I had my earplugs in, shutting out the noise of the blower and virtually reducing my world to only what I could see in front of me.

As  I continued to blow all of the leaves into a large pile at the base of my oak tree I couldn’t help but think about Thanksgiving and what it means to me.  I also couldn’t get the idea of how preposterous my current actions might have seemed to the first settlers of this country, the ones we often imagine when we think of the first Thanksgiving.

Almost certainly, my image of the first Thanksgiving is a myth likely created in equal parts by coloring books, grade school, and things that my grandparents told me.  In my mind it is a pristine affair with all invitees in period dress set before a table crowded with cuisine that would rival any four-star restaurant.

The natives are dressed in their full leather beaded tops and pants along with their dress moccasins, there hair woven and braided as to pull it away from their flawless, tanned skin only to reveal their beautiful and prominent features.   Many of them wear a decorative beaded headband, but no headdresses are spotted.  I imagine that the horses they rode to the event are out of sight, having their own version of Thanksgiving consisting of hay and apples provided to them by the Pilgrim Wives Auxiliary.

The pilgrims are a vision in black with their conservative coats, knickers, and buckled accessories that add just the right amount of zip to their otherwise staid and puritan attire.  Their hats are tall and well shaped and their shoes and belts shined to mirror quality.  And no one has dirt beneath their fingernails.

The weather is agreeable and cooperative that day as the large well crafted dining table is set outside for the feast.  A deciduous forest with its leaves hemorrhaging magnificent yellows, oranges, and reds provides the backdrop.  The air is absent of wind and the sun is shining, but not in annoying way, where it might be a distraction.  Perhaps it is dappled by the autumn leaves gently finding their way to the ground.

Before the great feast there are countless blessings put upon the food and the goodwill being forged between the newcomers and the rightful inhabitants of this beautiful land, who are really happy that the puritans came along because they really wanted some new friends.

I then laughed to myself, or maybe aloud (after all, I had earplugs in), and thought about how absurd my version of the first Thanksgiving had become, and how much I dearly loved it, anyway.

We were the last of the guests to arrive at Mom’s house and when we got to the door we were enveloped in hugs, kisses, and smiles.  All of the family flooded the entry way and shoved their way towards us creating the most wonderful sense of claustrophobia.  It was a nearly overwhelming scene and I made a mental note to always be the last to arrive from now on.

As we waited for the dinner to finish its long journey from purchase to preparation we talked and laughed, told stories and explained inside jokes, and eventually went outside to throw the football around the yard.  Those who did not participate were fortunate enough to be entertained by my Aunt Deresa’s inventive receiving style, which included an almost total implosion of her midsection as the ball arrived at her body, my God brother Gabriel’s unconventional passing attempts that involved a post-throw kick in the air courtesy of his trailing lower leg, and perhaps the best arm of a non-drafted free agent belonging to my pregnant wife.  I’ve never had more fun throwing the football with three people and part of me fears I never will again.

Dinner time was nearing so we moved inside and I made certain to tell my mother to make sure that no one started eating this year until we all had told each other what we were thankful for.  Upon hearing this announcement, my Aunt Deresa, whose grandchildren have nicknamed her La La, exclaimed, “We’re going to do that again this year?  I hate that game.”

I laughed and asked Cari if she could explain to La La that it was not a game so much as it was an actual expression of your feelings of thankfulness and gratitude.  This information did nothing to change La La's feelings towards the exercise, and she proceeded to tell everyone to stop talking to her so that she may try to think of something that she was thankful for, presumably in attempt not to lose “the game”.

We set before a table expertly decorated by my God brother Allan and proceeded to speak, one at a time, in an effort to describe what we were all thankful for.  Most were thankful for the other members of the family at the table, some were thankful for the return of Whitney Houston to the top of the pop charts (Gabriel), and even the food got a mention.  When it came to my turn I pulled out of my pocket a small field notebook and, with apologies for delaying the feast, I began to read what I had written earlier that morning in anticipation of the Thanksgiving Game:

“What would the pilgrims think of our version of Thanksgiving?

They would probably be overwhelmed by the massive amounts of food, the impressive display of holiday decor, not to mention the invention of central heat and air.

But, what did the pilgrims know, anyway?  These were people who wore buckles on their hats.

All differences aside, surely they would approve of the common theme of our very different thanksgiving celebrations.  Friends and family gathering to proclaim their most heartfelt thanks for the gifts that they have received.

Continuing their tradition, I would like to express my thanks for the people at this table.

I am thankful for my Mother who worries too much, loves too much, and does too much.  And as often as I may protest, I am glad that she does.

I am thankful for Deresa and Wayne.  There is not a person in the world that could be in Aunt Deresa’s presence and keep a smile from drawing across their face.  And no one could love her more than “Homer”.  For that, I am thankful.

I am thankful for Gabe and Allan.  Their love, talent, and grace provide an energy that everyone should be so lucky to witness.

I am thankful for Coach Jones, who puts up with our eccentricities, and greets our family dramas with strength and humor.

I am thankful for my brother, Christopher, my hero.  He accomplishes more on a daily basis than most of us can claim in a decade.

I am thankful for Aunt Pat and Uncle Jay.  Aunt Pat breathes new life into this family, and my uncle Jay, as always, is the most charming person I have had the privilege to know.

I am thankful for my wife, Cari.  It is no small task to put up with a person such as myself, and she does it with grace and ease.  She is the most intelligent, talented, and beautiful woman I have ever known.  She defends the defenseless and supports the fallen.  She always seems to be on the right side of an argument, which can be really frustrating for me, but that is why I love her.  She makes me re-visit everything I thought I already knew about life, and then patiently waits for me to catch up.  Her support is unending and her love is absent of judgement.  This is why she will be such a great Mother.

I am thankful for little Grey Matthew.  If I had any advice for him in his future dealings with this family, I would say, ‘Just be yourself.’  The chances are better than average, given your pedigree, that you will be a little different than most of the people you know, and that is okay.

Because the thing that I am most thankful for, is the fact that my family is not boring.  Boring just doesn’t cut it in this family.

And there is something to be said for a family where the only way to fit in, is to not fit in.

That is truly something to be thankful for.”

Happy Thanksgiving 2009