Now that I'm in South Georgia, my mom and my step-dad make a special trip down from Illinois for Thanksgiving. They usually celebrate an early Thanksgiving with my brothers and their families in Illinois and then drive down for the holiday. This year was no different.
While many people don't like the hassle of preparing the turkey and all the fixings and desserts necessary for a proper Thanksgiving feast, that is as much a part of the tradition of the day for me as having the football games on TV. The parade . . . eh . . . I can take or leave that. So this year, my mother and I buzzed in and out of the kitchen between tasks and watching the Lions and Packers on the gridiron. My son and his grandfather kept themselves busy while we prepped dishes and cooked. It was a happy house and I was mentally counting my blessings because I know there were others who could not be with their families and many who are much less fortunate than I am.
Finally, the table was set, the candles were lit, the turkey was carved and we sat down to enjoy the meal . . .
It was at this moment that my son decided to loose any and all frustration that he had been storing up unbeknownst to we innocent bystanders. A meltdown like we haven't witnessed in years took place over the selection of deviled eggs. Or perhaps it was the sight of stuffing ("That looks GROSS!") on his plate that set him off. Whatever the cause, he refused to talk to anyone and stared at the flames of the candle.
My mother, frustrated and tired of watching this ridiculous tantrum, promptly blew out the candles . . . only exacerbating the problem. Tears ensued. My mother announced that she had reached the end of her patience and that she didn't feel a need to sit at the table while Declan showed that behavior. She took her plate and went upstairs to finish her meal. Of course, that only made Declan cry more. He stomped upstairs to his own room, sobbing uncontrollably. My stepfather and I sat across from each other at the table and shared a look of pure disbelief, then finished a very quiet meal. Happy Thanksgiving.
My mother came down after she finished her dinner. Declan eventually made amends as well, slipping my mother, step-father and I handmade cards saying, "I'm so sorry, Love Declan P.S. for t[h]rowing a fit." Plenty of hugs were exchanged over pumpkin pie and whipped cream and all was once again right with the world.
This is what happens when a real family gets together. And stories like these are the ones that make up holiday memories. It might be more like "Funny Farm" than Norman Rockwell perfection, but the good, the bad, the ugly . . . THIS is what family is all about, and it is something for which I am so very thankful.
