A Thanksgiving to Remember
To this day, my grandmother hasn’t let me live it down. I’m referring to an incident from my childhood, when we drove over to Grandma’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. I was about 5 and had just finished stuffing my face with turkey with all the trimmings, corn, mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie. The adults were understandably sluggish after this bountiful feast, and so they failed to notice when I slipped away from the table and went to look at the glass animal figurines on a high shelf in the living room.
Moments later, the clatter from a few rooms over was almost deafening, and my parents and relations came running with genuine concern. When they saw that I had managed to knock over every last knick-knack, my fate was sealed. I spent the rest of that evening helping with washing and drying the dishes. It doesn’t seem to matter how old my grandmother gets; she’ll always remember that holiday from long ago.