Things are a bit quiet, so I’ll reminisce.
From the age of 5 until I married I had school until at least noon on Thanksgiving Day.
When I’d come home from school, my mother’s parents would come over for a formal meal.
My mom would cook a turkey or a few chickens. Inevitably it would burn.
(For some reason my mom could make good food anytime, but when her parents came, the food would burn. I remember one weekend they were over, in which she burned every course.)
After the meal the parental units would talk and I’d go off to listen to the radio. Usually there wasn’t much to listen to, but sometimes they would re-play an old Jack Benny or Fred Allen radio show related to the holiday. I’d sit and write my poetry and stories and dread the morning and the return to school.
Now that my mom’s parents are dead, Thanksgiving is just another day. Although, now it’s a day off from work. Also, so many people call out on the Friday after Thanksgiving, that it’s like an additional day off. I guess, overall, now is better than it was.
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