I grew up in the mid-Atlantic area of this country, raised by a loving great-grandmother; surrounded by siblings, uncles and aunts.
The first Thanksgiving I remember as a child fell nine months after my 9th birthday. I was shy, thirsty for knowledge and devoted to the idea of family. Three days prior to the holiday, preparations would start. The frozen turkey thawing in the sink filled with cool water, my great-uncle purchasing a mince-meat pie that my sister and I always mistook for a delectable pumpkin or sweet potato dessert, much to our chagrin and surprise. Marble sized cranberries resting in a bowl, the bitter taste puckering my lips, before being mixed with a little sugar, when I’d sneak a taste. Dinner rolls, Virginia ham and eggnog resting on their annual home… the kitchen table.
The star of this mini family extravaganza was always my great-granny, referred to as “Ma’ by three generations of us who gathered to pay homage to the woman who raised us all. She was a short stout woman, bespectacled in horn-rimmed glasses, always adorned in a shape shifting house dress, and in later years moving with a slow gate that recalled the struggles of her youth. I loved her as dearly as she loved me. She would let me help polish her good silverware for the occasion and I looked upon it as an honor. She kept it in a box stored in the buffet (we called it a sideboard) only to be released for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. The day before my coolest uncle would fly across country to be a part of the festivities. My sister and I would come home from school hoping to smell the odor of cigarettes and Brute cologne in the air, if we did, we knew he was home to complete the family picture.
Dinner was served at 4pm on Thursday. As the unchallenged head of the family, Ma sat at the head of the table in the chair with the arms, we gathered around the outer edges in the armless side chairs. The arm chair was for an honorable woman who fought and struggled to keep us together and died years later praying that we’d stay that way. We don’t always communicate as often as we should but we all took the lessons we learned, raised families, tried to make life better and knowing where to find each other is a secret comfort.
I could say a lot more things, recalling the wide-eyed visions I hold from my childhood, but to family, friends and those ready to partake in the guilty pleasure of overeating, be thankful! I am, for all “Ma” gave me.