Share your Thanksgiving story

[Senegoid]

@Tibby or Not Tibby

Way too verbose, IMHO. Consider: Cooked. Ate. Fini.

Or the slightly more verbose, but classic: I Came. I Cooked. I Ate.

[Aspenglow]

@Tibby or Not Tibby

When I was a kid, I had a big, beautiful…but bad Irish Setter, Laddy (Londonderry Lad).

One Thanksgiving, my family (grandparents and all) were waiting for dad to emerge from the kitchen, cutlery in hand, to start carving the golden brown, deliciously aromatic turkey. All mouths were watering in anticipation of Dad getting down to business and start handing out the meat to each and all.

Good ol’ Laddy beat him to the punch, however. Like a flash, the dog jumped up and with forepaws on the head of the table (Dad’s spot), snatched the bird with his gapping maw and drug it down onto the floor. Dad quickly wrestled the prize from Laddy, washed the slobber off the bird in the sink and proceeded to carve it up. We all asked for deeper cuts.

That was the same Thanksgiving my mom asked nanna to pass the cranberry jelly, which was plated like this. Nanna reached over, squeezed the jelly and it oozed between her fingers and glopped all over the table. “I thought it was still in the can!?!” Nanna was a real hoot.

Years later, we had Thanksgiving at my older brother’s house. We weren’t really excited to eat there, because, although my sister-in-law is a great gal, she was a pretty bad cook in those days (e.g. she used ketchup as the sauce in her lasagna, she made coffee you could see through to the bottom of the cup, etc.). And sure enough, the turkey was presented for carving with a pallorous hue, bordering on cyanotic and lacking in any type of herbs or spices. The fixins’ were equally bad, if not worse.

My nephew was ~3 at the time and despised vegetables—just would not eat them. This dinner was no different; he picked at the meat and starches, but did not touch anything green. This irked my brother, who was concerned about the boy’s nutrition, so he tried negotiating with his son. “If you eat just half of a string bean, you can have dessert; otherwise, you’ll have to leave the table.” It didn’t work.

So, true to his word, brother walked over, lifted his son from under his arms and proceeded to remove him gently from the dinner table. This didn’t sit well with sis-in-law, who felt such draconian measures were unwarranted on a holiday. She popped up, grabbed her son by the feet and tried to wrestle him (non-violently) back onto his chair. In their 45+ year marriage, this was the closest I’ve ever seen my brother and his wife get into a fight. They pulled their kid back and forth, both refusing to give up their grip. This was a bit awkward for the rest of the family and we all just looked in different directions. Finally, brother relented; my nephew plopped back into his seat and enjoyed his pumpkin pie (which tasted like it was made with raw pumpkin flesh). To this day, we joke that my nephew grew to 6’5” not from his mother’s cooking, but due to the stretching he got at that holiday dinner.

Years later, we had Thanksgiving dinner at my house. The guests included my extended family, my much older business partner, his wife and their best friends (a conservative minister and his wife). Earlier in the day, my brother showed me one of those electronic flatulence machines that he just bought for the occasion (what can I say; holiday’s bring out the adolescent in us). I suggested that we tape the noise box to the bottom of Dad’s chair and blast it at an opportune time during dinner. Brother: “You don’t think the minister will be offended?”

“He probably will be, but that just makes it funnier”, I replied. I taped the box to the bottom of dad’s chair well before everyone was seated and brother played mission control.

Dinner was excellent (I made it myself with help from mom and sis…my ex was as bad a cook as my sister-in-law and tipsy as usual). Everyone was enjoying the meal and engaged in lively conversation. Then, at just the right moment, when everyone was full and there was a lull in the conversation, brother pushed the button and let it rip. I looked toward dad, mock-aghast and said, “that’s pretty rude, Dad!”
…but, everyone turned to stare at me…not Dad! What the…

Then, brother blasted again, even longer. He chastised, “Tibby, don’t blame Dad, excuse yourself to the bathroom!”

That’s when I realized my bastard brother switched my chair with dad’s when I wasn’t looking. Even the minister and his wife had a good laugh. I was mortified.

I want you to know, I laughed about these all afternoon. As for the Laddy story, I could have written an identical one – only replace the name of the bad Irish Setter with Clancy. Thanks for bringing back tear-wiping memories!

[Sailboat]

When I first lived with the woman who became my wife, I happened (mostly through random chance) to be friends with several people who were literally orphans, raised in group homes or adopted, and some others who were very far away from home (transcontinental) or estranged from their families. We were mostly young, and Thanksgiving (like other holidays) was a hard time for these people.

My wife conceived the idea of “orphans’ holidays.” We invited all the young folks with no homes to go to (or homes out of reach), even a few social outcasts. She’d cook and we’d entertain. We had a nice crowd.

Eventually people got married and/or moved away, or otherwise stopped coming; I hope because they found (or founded) their own families. But for a few years it was a lovely tradition!

[scabpicker]

When I was staying with my mother to take care of her, I had to work most of Thanksgiving. But I would be able to help make part of the meal, and would be able to eat before I returned to work that night. My brother and SIL were going to make the rest of it.

When I get home from work Thanksgiving morning, my brother and mom had been defrosting the turkey in the sink by running water over it. However, at some point the water had been switched to hot water, making it a bird that had sat raw at around 90 degrees for a good long while. To keep food poisoning at bay, my brother went out and got another bird. Meanwhile I made cornbread for the dressing in a glass dish, then set it out to cool while I went to bed.

When I woke up, my brother, SIL and mom were acting weird. Nothing I could put my finger on, but something was off. Either way, I made the dressing, and we served dinner. While I took my first bite of dressing, I noticed everyone was staring at me. Paranoid about what’s going on, they convinced me to take a bite. It was good, so I was even more suspicious of what the hell was going on.

Apparently while I was sleeping, the stove under the cornbread pan was turned on. No-one noticed they had turned on the wrong burner, and the heat difference made the dish shatter. They transferred the ruined dish and shards to the sink, and prepared to make new cornbread.

When making the new cornbread, they were having trouble finding a second box of mix in my mom’s pantry. After awhile, my mom located it, and they dumped it in with the wet ingredients and started mixing. Then, one of them noticed that second box was Jiffy cake mix, not cornbread (hey, from 5 sides, they look largely the same).

At this point, my normally very stable sister-in-law has a psychotic moment over the cornbread-glass concoction that remains in the sink, thinking “oh yeah! we can make this work!”. My brother has a decisive moment when he sees this and turns the faucet on the glass shard treat, which prevents even my SIL’s Thanksgiving-crazed mind from contemplating that course further.

So, they passed off the cornbread/cake concoction. And it made pretty good dressing, even if it was a little sweet. I love that Thanksgiving, just because we worked pretty damn hard for it.

[Chronos]

The biggest story this year, my aunt was hosting, and one of her daughters came home from England without telling her until she snuck up behind her in the kitchen.

I think my favorite, though, was a year or two ago: We were going around the table saying what we’re thankful for, and it came to one of my cousins. His wife said “Hold on for a moment”, and gave him a very passionate kiss right at the table. He got a stunned look on his face, and then said “I’m thankful for sex”. I think she shorted out his brain.

[billfish678]

Our family Thanksgivings had lots of people. Lots and lots of people. One year NOBODY brought a pumpkin pie. Not a one to be had.

My grandfather bitched so long and loud it was probably heard at quasars light years away.

After that year there was never a shortage of pumpkin pies to put it mildly.

The bitching only slightly abated though threw the years however.