Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, so I’m doing some typing to put off massaging my fowl. I am procrastinating on the fowl-massaging because I cannot handle a freezing cold raw turkey without thinking about my father.
Because he talked into the cavity, to the bird.
“Hello, Tom (fake echo voice).”
“Hello, Mr. Howard!”
“How’s it going in there, Tom?”
“It’s cold, Mr. Howard. It’s cold.”
Same bit every year. When I look back on it, it think the funniest part isn’t the talking into a turkey, but that it referred to him so formally, even though clearly they knew each other well enough for the turkey to open up about it’s situation.
My Dad died spring before last, and that is the reason I started writing. After many years of child-rearing and working and generally run of the mill adult stuff, losing a parent makes you Think Deep Thoughts. My brain was full of throwaway stuff like nobody in this house drinks enough water and I will take you Target, but not wearing that, so I felt like I should probably write the big ideas down before they disappeared back into the noise. Then I didn’t write them down for a year and a half (see post on Catholicism). I hope they show back up.
Thanksgiving was my father’s favorite holiday, because everything was always exactly the same. EXACTLY. THE. SAME. I’ve talked to a lot of people who’s dads are like this. They talk big about family and gratitude, but really Thanksgiving is the magical day when time stops. You can eat the same food and do the same things and have the same conversations that you did 20 years ago. It is a one-day-only Wayback Machine.
In 2004 they came to my house, so I made a dressing with sausage and nuts and challah bread instead of my mom’s traditional bread and sage stuffing. He was vocally put out and refused to acknowledge it, and insisted that I had wounded my mother deeply by not making hers. She was so happy not to be cooking she’d have eaten tacos and hard candy, but they never left home at Thanksgiving again.
This year we will have Thanksgiving with friends. Parents are dropping like flies these days, so we are all trying out new holiday combinations and seeing what works well enough to turn into tradition. I miss my dad terribly, but this is exciting. I am curious to see what we build. I don’t know what I’m going to eat yet. This is the stuff of adventure.