Thanksgiving is like New Years to me.
I always find myself….at some point in the day…remembering what the day was like when I was growing up…the house we lived in…my family…how cold it was outside, the kind of cold that if you went for a walk without your coat your skin got tight and dry. We had a ton of trees around the house, so the leaves were gorgeous.
Today, I find myself a bit melancholy.
There was something so fabulous about being a kid on “two day” Thanksgiving.
That Sunday and Monday…I never knew which was the real day…and I did not give a crap because we got another day off of school.
But it was still the beginning of the school year…so anything was still possible…I could still become cool…I could still get the part I wanted in the school play (note: I DID not get Dorothy in the all-white version of The Wiz…I played the Wicked Witch with a purple afro wig…that is ALL kinds of wrong). AND it was the beginning of the Holidays…the countdown to Christmas had begun.
I loved waking up in the morning and smelling the Turkey that would cook all day…and yet somehow would only end up half cooked due to the fact that my Stepfather had installed the oven incorrectly.
The house was warm.
Warm with family.
Even though mine was weird as all get out…I think everyone’s was a little weird…I felt like we were the family in a black and white picture for that one day.
With the green Tupperwear bowl that contained the ‘salad’…which was a head of iceberg lettuce ripped in half…and the plate of cranberries…which was still in the shape of the can.
The TV playing CFL football…I think there were two teams with the same name…and we only had 9 teams for christsake…the Roughriders…how gay is that name in retrospect?
My grama doing macrame in the corner in her yellow velveteen chair.
My sister Gwen coming over…I loved it when she came over from her ‘married’ house…bringing me a cool outfit that she had made me on her sewing machine.
It wasn’t too exciting a day.
Just exciting enough.
I would get mashed potatoes.
I love mashed potatoes.
To this day I have to control the impulse to fill my entire plate with them.
And my dear sweet lover.
I feel melancholy because a couple of years ago I came to the obvious yet startling realization that I could never go back to that time.
When everything was possible and I was still someone else’s responsibility.
I am thankful for all that is and that will be.
And remembering all that was.
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