A Classic Thanksgiving

A couple years ago we had Thanksgiving dinner with my mom's side of the family. Because there were over thirty people present, we had to split up into different tables. One table was for the kids under 10, another table was for the adults and one special table was for the teenagers. The nine cousins that I shared the table with are some of my best friends; we have the ability to laugh together for hours on end and this occurs nearly every time we are together; we were thrilled to find out we had our very own table. We were the first to take our seats, all physically and mentally prepared to inhale the pounds of delicious food that stood only an arm length away, tempting us mercilessly. As soon as the prayer had been offered and the amens were uttered we began to indulge. Our plates were piled high and succulent food covered every square inch of the plate in front of us. We were tremendously focused on the goal at hand: clear the plate and load up again. The table was silent; the only sound that could be heard was the clinking of the gold fork against the porcelain plate and an occasional blunt and panicked, "Pass the potatoes" (or rolls, turkey, stuffing, gravy, yams, green bean casserole, etc.) as if the mentioned food would be spoiled shortly and we had a set time limit to get the food safely stored in our stomachs. The laughter and quality conversation that usually exists when we are in each others presence was absent, instead we stuffed our faces. After we each had seconds, thirds, even fourths for some we began unbuttoning our pants to allow room for our stomachs to expand. We glanced over at the adult's table just to the right of ours: they were all fully engaged in conversation and still only beginning to make a dent in their first helping of the feast. While they had been focused on enjoying the company of family, the food had been the focal point at our table. And the fact that we had cleared our plates three times before everyone else even filled their plates for the second time confirmed that fact. We soon made our way into the family room where we collapsed from overeating. Some fell onto the couches, others lay spread eagle on the carpeted floor. Then we stared at each other. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to talk. It hurt to laugh. So we lay in silence, doing our best to avoid breathing any more than absolutely necessary to remain alive. Every now and then, someone would begin to laugh at the situation at hand, after all we had just eaten enough food to feed an entire third-world country and were now laying like a colony of dead logs on our grandparents floor. One laugh caused everyone else to start laughing which quickly turned into moaning. If it didn't hurt so bad to shift positions we would have thrown a pillow at the first laugher that inflicted so much pain on the rest of us. Instead we uttered a, "Stop laughing, it hurts!" and went back to laying in silence. Three hours later our parents informed us that it was time to leave, ushered us into the car, drove the 20 minutes home and watched "Miracle on 34th Street," our annual Thanksgiving night movie.

When I think Thanksgiving, my mind is flooded with this memory, it's a classic. I hope I experience a little déjà vu tomorrow and have another excellent Thanksgiving Day. I kind of can't wait.

Happy Thanksgiving!