Thanksgiving may be my favorite holiday, simply because it’s all about eating. This is nothing new or enlightening, but it makes me hungry just to write that. Next spring, I’ll say something similar about Memorial Day, because that holiday is the gateway to summer, and that day, too, is about eating, and like Thanksgiving, has no presents attached to it. Or outdoor decorating.
I enjoy cooking the turkey on the grill. It has very little to do with the fact that like most men, I can drink beer and stand somewhere near the grill and pretend to know what I’m doing. Drink some beer, baste the bird, drink some more beer. Tough duty, this. No, my enjoyment has little to do with all that. It is really about THAT’S ALL I AM QUALIFIED TO DO.
When I was young, we had a lot of relatives over at Thanksgiving, and they all dressed up for it. My Uncle Wid – really, that was his name – wore a sporty plaid jacket and a bow tie. I’m not making fun of it; he looked like he should. But those days are perhaps past. This year, I am going to force my son to wear a collared shirt, and I thought that was harsh until I realized my mom did the same thing with me when I was his age. As much as I wanted to wear a T-shirt to Thanksgiving dinner, it wasn’t going to happen. Not on my mom’s watch.
We will be five this year, Linda and Sam and Moll and I and my sister Sarah, and it should be a nice time for all. I got a nice big turkey so there will be plenty of leftovers. Need more information? Call me on the back porch. I’ll save a beer for you…maybe.