Thanksgiving 1964

Thanksgiving 1964

(Loosely based on actual events)

Gregory Talley

            I always looked forward to Thanksgiving at Uncle Tex and Aunt Mary’s house.  The 90 minute drive to Linton under normal circumstances was unbearable for anybody between the ages of 5 and 18.  But, Thanksgiving was different.  Not only was it a time for the gathering of the cousins (and the requisite cheek-pinching, ooh’s and ahs’s, and “my-how-you’ve-grown” remarks from all the aunts) but it was a time to sit back and watch for the unanticipated yet fully expected fireworks.  This Thanksgiving would stand out as the granddaddy of them all.

            The day started out as a “normal” Thanksgiving, whatever that was.  Cousin Bob, the oldest cousin with children my age, pulled the clear glass bottle out of his pocket after the usual pleading of the younger cousins.  There, displayed for all to see, was the severed pinky finger permanently preserved for all to see and to remind us all of his connections to an Italian family in Chicago.  The girls ran screaming toward the kitchen.  Little Cousin Jenny stepped squarely on Foster’s tail.  Foster, Uncle Tex’s collie was perched under the side tray of Thanksgiving relishes.  Foster of course jumped and yelped, but in the process nudged the relish table just enough to send it crashing to the floor.  Silver and Berry, Aunt Mary’s cats both made a quick retreat upstairs and were not seen again for the rest of the day.

            The aunts fussed over Foster and Aunt Mary demanded that Uncle Tex place Foster outside or locked up in a bedroom upstairs.  The 10- and 11-year-old cousins pleaded with Uncle Tex to send Foster upstairs where they could play with him.  Poor Foster.

            The aunts cleaned up the mess and returned to dispensing justice to mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, rolls, home-canned green beans, stuffing,  homemade noodles,  ham, and the grand prize—that year’s turkey.

            With Cousin Bob’s preserved extra finger safely tucked away, it was time for Bob’s routine of magic tricks.  First came the thumb separation trick, which we older cousins had figured out years earlier, but it still fascinated the younger cousins.  But, next came the card tricks.  Bob could always pull off a good card trick.  “Pick a card—any card.”  And so, Uncle Howard would pick a card and then slide it back into the deck.  Like magic, Bob selected the correct card.  Then Bob pulled off the magic trick of all times.  He shuffled the cards, ran them up and down his shirt sleeve, then fanned them out for all to see, then ran them back together into a stacked deck.  With the flick of a wrist, he then fanned them out on the wall.  They stuck to the wall!  Cousin Billy was so excited with this magic feat that he ran to the wall and reached for the cards.  Cousin Bob screeched, “No!”, but it was too late.  Billy got to the cards first, half of which fell directly into the small fish aquarium.

            Anxious to help our Cousin Bob, Billy reached to the aquarium filled with angelfish to retrieve the errant cards, but Uncle Sid, the consummate fisherman, seeing Billy reaching for the cards made a preemptive strike to steady the aquarium—a full millisecond before Billy drove for the cards.  What would have been Billy’s forearm reaching to the blue rock-covered bottom of the aquarium ended up being Billy’s chin being struck by the upper edge of the glass enclosure and the weight of Uncle Sid’s fish-wrangling arms pulled down on the opposite side of the aquarium.

            Billy fell backwards, chin bleeding from a deep gash, just as Aunt Ota walked in the room carrying a bowl of hot gravy, and promptly tripped over Billy.  Luckily, there were only plates and silverware on the white table cloth-covered table.  Luckily, another table cloth would be retrieved and there would be time to re-wash dishes before dinner.  Meanwhile, though some of the water in the aquarium went straight up, most of it ended up in Uncle Sid’s face, shirt, and lap.  Aunt Mary rushed out of the kitchen to find out what the clamor was all about, hit the water and her feet went flying up as her better side came crashing down on the wet floor.  While her floor-length dress worked quite well as a sponge, it did little to cover her dignity, if you know what I mean.

            Three of the four angelfish were quickly found.  The fourth was found between the three-inch wool fringes on the rug at the foot of the chair where Uncle Sid sat.  Sid found it when he stood.  The remaining three fish were transferred to Foster’s water bowl for temporary holding, where they were forgotten.

            Cousin Bob, adhering to the principle that discretion is the better part of valor, cancelled the remainder of his Mafia Finger and Magic Card Show.  Uncle Sid, with his 36-inch waist and 15-1/2 size shirt borrowed a 44-inch pair of slacks and 17-1/2 size shirt from Uncle Tex.  The cousins, with the exception of Billy, picked up pea-size blue rocks and fishbowl castle pieces.  Miraculously, the aquarium remained intact.

            The table was finally set and Aunt Marry called for everybody to the table, including the 10- and 11-year-old cousins who were upstairs with Foster.  Uncle John was given the privilege of offering a Prayer of Thanksgiving as we all stood behind the backs of the chairs.  Bob, the magician and irreverent family member took a drink of water during the prayer, but the water only made its way partially to its destination when Uncle John thanked God that nobody had been killed in the house yet that day.  Water shooting though the nose makes such a distinctive sound.

            Thanksgiving dinner proceeded without incident.  No hits.  No runs.  No errors.  Not even Foster, who had come to dinner with the 10- and 11-year-old cousins, misbehaved.  He knew his place at the table and his place did not include begging—most of the time.

            At the conclusion of dinner, Aunt Mary announced that it was time for pie.  She and Mother and the other aunts excused themselves from the table and went to the kitchen to gather the pies.

            You don’t expect to hear a shriek from the kitchen unless there is something very wrong—like Dracula or Frankenstein peering through the window.  Clearly an empty dog’s water bowl does not merit such a reaction.  I don’t think that Uncle Tex and Aunt Mary ever replaced the angelfish.

            Before the five sisters brought the pies into the dining room, Mom asked Dad to help with one of the pies that had just come out of the oven.  Dad looked so important walking into the dining room wearing the oven mittens and carrying a fresh, hot pie.  And the pie looked so graceful as it flew from his hands and into the back end of the turkey carcass still on the dining room table.

            I do not think those were tears of thanksgiving that day.  Aunt Mary was in tears because of the perfectly ruined Thanksgiving.  Aunt Jessie was in tears because of the contribution that Cousin Billy had made to the festivities.  The remaining aunts were simply in tears and the uncles discreetly laughed through their tears.

            We cousins couldn’t wait to see what would happen on Thanksgiving of 1965.  Surely nothing could top the Thanksgiving of 1964.

            The 90-minute ride home was in silence, but I couldn’t help but smile all the way home.