Thanksgiving. Food, family, stress. As a child, I was quite selfish. Quite selfish, indeed. I claimed to hate Thanksgiving, but I think I said this because I wasn’t the center of attention. So, my worry of being ignored and my “hatred” of the holiday drove me to the basement to hide and time how long it took someone to find me. Not only did I go to the basement, but I went to the unfinished part, then through a little doorway into a secret room where the lawn mower was kept. I then would hide behind something. And sit. So, even if someone came looking for me, he or she had to work for it.
My mom was always the one to notice I was gone and come looking. She always found and encouraged me to come back upstairs and join the rest of the family. When I said I didn’t want to, she always told me that she needed me and one relative or another was driving her crazy. So, I went and stood near my mother. My grandmother always came in and stole the show with some ridiculous story or another and she usually made one of my aunts cry (this aunt is waaaay too sensitive) and then my grandmother cried and my mom got angry and she and my dad went to another room to gossip about how insane the family is.
My grandmother doesn’t eat turkey, by the way. She doesn’t cook anything that is called its name. Like, she doesn’t serve chicken or turkey or lamb. I don’t really know about rabbit…that is probably off the list as well. But, she does make Ham. Because it’s not called pig. This is all very logical and sensical in her mind. Anyway, on Thanksgiving a couple of years ago, my aunt (not the crier, another one) said that she was going to bring the Turkey. She showed up…no Turkey. Thank goodness my grandmother has that weird obsession with the names of meats and all, because she saved Thanksgiving with her ham. And the Turkey was never mentioned. Weird? Yes, it is.
Part of the tradition was the day after Thanksgiving. This is now defunct because I am finally old enough to refuse to see Santa and have no consequences. She (my mom) forced me to participate in this tradition until I was in sixth grade. Holy hell, sixth grade! Besides that, we (my mom’s side of the family) spent the entire day at the mall shopping and seeing movies and getting candy and looking at Christmas decorations. It was entirely magical. Now, it is just the mall. With A TON of people that need to be punched. The magic has died.
Tomorrow, I will be taking pictures and notes of all the drama. Because I know my aunt will cry. And that my grandmother will say something inappropriate. My mom will get mad and my dad will laugh and tell her to calm down which will just make her more mad. My cousin will act arrogant and my uncle will wear socks with sandals. And, I will be there to document every weird thing. For posterity. And this blog.
P.S. I totally tagged this post with “zombies”