Family Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving was always a small affair in my childhood home. There was my mother, my brother, my sister and me. My father was never around. We knew none of our grandparents. There were no uncles nor aunts nor cousins. Just the four of us.
I won’t say we weren’t a happy crew, but it was an uneventful day. The meal itself (Lucy, may you rest in peace and know that I fondly remember many of your other talents) was abysmal. We reached for applesauce, cranberry sauce, anything to somehow moisten that desert-dry turkey. Mom also overcooked the broccoli, letting it boil to the point of a hot-water soup. Yet the potatoes were ironically undercooked. The sharpest tines of any fork couldn’t penetrate those Russets.
Imagine my wonder when I discovered other family Thanksgivings, large gatherings, highly social, complete with daylong feasting. Speaking of which — -I am at this moment with my partner Bonnie and her family in her hometown, Stamford, CT. Over the four-day weekend, a posse of some forty family and friends come to Bonnie’s sister Robin and her husband Stuart’s house, arriving in high spirits and each with a pecan pie or a cranberry tart in hand.
Not that Robin’s Thanksgiving needs any supplemental dishes. When Stuart worked in Paris for six years, Robin took up Cordon Bleu cooking and turned herself into a master chef. This turkey dinner at Robin’s, just to give you a sampling, offers a starter of corn bisque with red bell pepper and rosemary. The side dishes are to die for — for one, yum, baked mashed potatoes with caramelized onions. Don’t you wish you were here?
But the food in this family is not the strong point. These people are like a team. They don’t argue. Don’t back-bite or gossip. There is no drama. No hurt feelings. They are interested in each others’ lives. They root for each other. They are a living tribute to the power and the joy of family and I’m so lucky to have been swept in as part of their clan.
Now don’t get me wrong. I have my own blood family and they are quite a special circle themselves. My mom died some 15 years ago and my brother only made it to 53. But my sister Liza and I are very close. My special nephew Tim allows me to call him my son. My niece JJ is smart and caring and a fantastic mother herself. And we will have our own holiday time in December. But for this Thanksgiving, I wanted to pay tribute to my non-biological family. It’s been 42 years now that Bonnie and her kin have treated me as one of their cherished own.
And, by the way, I remember my first couple of Thanksgivings in NYC when a young graduate student, not invited to any Thanksgiving dinner. It grew dark so early and I walked a long way, from the West Village down to the Brooklyn Bridge and back, to then enter what they called an Automat. I literally put coins in the revolving door machine for a turkey sandwich, with a delicious side of cranberry sauce. Rather than feeling down and alone, I took another long walk, filled with gratitude on so very many levels.
Happy Thanksgiving to you all, no matter what your definition of family happens to be.
