This was a strange Thanksgiving. Don't get me wrong, it was a good one. My brother-in-law, Greg, is a terrific cook, and spending time with my sister and godson was terrific.
But I got a call on Tuesday from my folks letting me know that my Dad was sick and would not make it to Connecticut for the festivities. So two down for the grown-up table.
On Thanksgiving Day, Greg's brother (my brother-in-law-in-law?) called to let us know one of his boys was down with a fever and so his wife would be staying home and he'd have the other two kids. Minus one more at the adult table, and one less seat at the kids' end.
Regardless, there was plenty of food (really, those three extra adults might have gone hungry with the way we five survivors put away the turkey etc), and we had a great time being the oldest grown-ups at the table. Since Greg's folks were in Atlanta visiting one of his other brothers (he's got 3), we really threw tradition out the window --- substituting our favorite (and most meaningful) Public Enemy lyrics for grace and playing flip-cup using slices of pumpkin pie.
OK, not really, but it did not go unnoticed among any of us that we had, albeit unintentionally, become the standard bearers for the most traditional of holiday meals. And as we looked down the table at those shining faces watching us, there was a sense that we were, without even trying, creating the beginnings of the stuff of their childhood memories.
We were also threatening them with no dessert if they didn't sit down and eat [except Jane, of course; that girl needs no cajoling]. But I think you know what I mean...
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