As you read this blog, another Thanksgiving weekend is winding down. Family has come together from far and wide, sat and broken bread together, then once again gone their separate ways. Everyone has reconnected and spent just enough time with one another to remind themselves why they don’t talk to each other during the rest of the year.
In my family, as in many others, we have a tradition that as we sit at the dinner table on Thanksgiving night, we go around the table and each of us says what we are thankful for at that moment in time. When it was my turn, I said I was thankful that we were all able to get together for another Holiday. This was a lie, but I didn’t want to be the one that lit the fuse this year. Don’t get me wrong. It always gets lit, but I don’t always have to be the one to do it.
It wasn’t easy, though. Instead of the trite acknowledgement of our tradition, what I really wanted to say was this:
I am thankful for Uncle Mike, who is always hammered by no later than one o’clock. Who lounges on the couch watching football while holding a drink in each hand, and yet still manages to pat every female who wanders too close to him on the butt. Although by the end of the night he will be passed out on the floor, in the hours he is awake he will still manage to create a scene that involves the neighbors and the police.
I am thankful for Grandma. The matron of the family who speaks infrequently, but when she does everyone holds their breath, wondering if she is going to attack one of us specifically or just mutter something that is generally horrible. This “God fearing woman” with her moral values established two hundred years ago is convinced that each of us has strayed from the true path and is firmly in the grasp of the Devil. I hope she does not have to put up with us for much longer. Seriously, I hope Saint Peter comes for her before dessert.
I am thankful for my brother, the man who must always do me one better and draw the attention away if it happens to fall on me from time to time. Me: “I’ll be right back, I have to pee.” Him: “I’ve had to pee for the last hour, but I guess spending time with family is just more important to me.”
I am thankful for my nephew, who is in prison again. No matter how bad I screw things up during the previous year, he always makes me feel better because I know it could have been worse. A lot worse. That kid is really messed up. I mean, what the hell did he think he was going to do with a zebra?
I am thankful for my cousin, Laura, who could not be here this year. She and her girlfriend are still upset by what Grandma said to them three years ago. Not that I blame her. Grandma was in a particularly foul mood that year.
I am thankful for my dad. He passed away thirteen years ago, proving definitively that there actually is a way to escape the sucking hole of need that is our family, if only you have the will to do it. Way to go, Dad. I wish I had your strength.
And lastly, I am thankful for my dog. She doesn’t talk to me. Ever. She sits quietly in the corner, minding her own business. She only asks for a bowl of water, some kibble, and the occasional moment to stand outside in the sunshine. And if she occasionally takes a dump on my neighbor’s lawn, nobody feels the need to call the cops.
Unlike with Uncle Mike.