This Just In – If Thanksgiving teaches us nothing else, it gives us the lesson of nostalgia’s value. For this (and so many things) I’m grateful.
Before we can surge forward, we really do have to pause a moment and look back. My earliest memories of 1960’s Thanksgiving are of our extended family gathered in our Manchester, Connecticut home. It was rare for my mother’s parents to visit us (instead of us going to them), so that’s a special, but gauzy memory.
In later years after we’d moved to nearby Glastonbury into a bigger house featuring a larger dining room, but the important things remained the same. The turkey, the gravy, the stuffing and the terrible Dad jokes from my father and his father.
Dad: “Do want a roll?”
Me: “Yes, please.”
Dad: “Well, get on the floor and roll.”
We’d listen with adoration as my father and grandfather would remember the year that their Siamese cats (named “Bent Tail” and “Straight Tail”) pulled off the great turkey caper. They were never separate from each other (common for the breed) but one year as everyone was enjoying pie, one of the two would be in the doorway of the kitchen.
They seemed to alternate, as though taking turns guarding the door. Finally, someone figured out that a feline crime was being committed. Entering the kitchen, they found what remained of the turkey carcass on the kitchen floor with one of the cats nose-in deep into its cavity, enjoying a feast. So much for the next-day sandwiches.
For several years we went to my uncle’s home for turkey. His house in those years was one with an odd room in the back … right off the kitchen, long and narrow and perfect for an oddly long dining table that seated all of us. Glorious.
As the years went by, Thanksgiving has remained a benchmark for family changes (marriages, divorces, deaths). It can be a little bit unnerving to glance back over your shoulder and note the date on the calendar. How could that much time have passed?
It was 1993 when my husband’s parents were living with us, as my mother-in-law was struggling with end-stage emphysema. For all the difficulty, I was grateful that we had the opportunity to have them with us for Thanksgiving. I made the full spread of turkey, sides and pies. My mother-in-law asked for a plate with one or two bites of everything. She was an excellent cook and her glowing review meant everything to me.
That was her last meal. The next day, she stopped eating, stopped taking her life-sustaining medicines and died shortly thereafter.
Despite the sadness, I appreciate that it was a matter of choice and of dignity. I choose to keep the joy of that day and of her love for her grandchildren. I’m grateful that we could be with her and she could feel surrounded by our love for her.
I was a lucky kid. I’m happy to acknowledge that grew up in a privileged, affluent situation. I attended public schools that were great, nurturing places to learn. I always felt safe at school.
I’m grateful for my family’s history. I wish more people knew their family’s complete story and had documentation to pass along. I hope that next week when we all sit down for the feast, we ask each of the elders to share a story of family history … for the little ears that will find those stories fresh, new and (maybe) funny.
My extended family will be here next week, so I’ll be baking and cooking and chasing grandkids. No one is going to steal my joy. I hope that yours remains with you as well. Remember to thank your host, clear your dishes from the table and tell your family stories.
Jean Bolduc is a freelance writer and the host of the Weekend Watercooler on 97.9 The Hill. She is the author of “African Americans of Durham & Orange Counties: An Oral History” (History Press, 2016) and has served on Orange County’s Human Relations Commission, The Alliance of AIDS Services-Carolina, the Orange County Housing Authority Board of Commissioners, and the Orange County Schools’ Equity Task Force. She was a featured columnist and reporter for the Chapel Hill Herald and the News & Observer.
Readers can reach Jean via email – jean@penandinc.com and via Twitter @JeanBolduc
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