Thanksgiving---Then and Now

Thanksgiving was my mother’s holiday. At maximum capacity we were 22 for sit-down dinner. That didn’t count the relatives that either stopped by before dinner or the ones that stopped by for dessert. It was an all-day event in our house. Company arrived around 1 pm and didn’t leave sometimes until midnight.

My mother was and still is a great cook. She enjoyed pleasing everyone’s palate. But it came at a cost. A week prior to Thanksgiving my mother turned into Gordon Ramsey and I was the sous chef in Hell’s kitchen. It wasn’t her fault. Back in the day females were responsible for all the holiday preparation, service, and clean-up. My father’s only job was to set up the bar and bring up the folding chairs. He also was in charge of music. That was it. And as far as I can remember my brother was not required to contribute anything at all except for occasionally throwing out the garbage.

And since our ethnic background was Italian the menu included items I am certain the Pilgrims never served: an antipasto with pickled pig’s feet, homemade Sicilian olives that my mother had brined herself weeks in advance, and prosciutto cut so thin you could see through it. Our secondi piatti was fresh lasagna--then the turkey and all the accompaniments. For dessert we always had birthday cake for my father, pies, Italian pastry and chestnuts roasted by my grandfather Vespo.

Everything was prepared and served to my mother’s specifications.  My cousin Gary who was a psychiatrist once remarked whoever rolled the salami this tightly must need therapy. I had rolled the salami. I had rolled it under my mother’s watchful eye.  I guess that would mean both of us had a touch of mental illness.   

And I feel free to admit that I do not miss all that work. I do not miss setting the table(s) or folding the napkins or making sure there was not one water spot on the silverware.I do not miss running downstairs and up between the two refrigerators and the 2 ovens.  I do not miss the culinary mess or clean-up. And I especially do not miss the torture of leftovers or my mother’s exhausted demeanor.

But I do miss the people. I miss the way my Uncle John could make my father laugh. I miss my cousin John complaining that he wanted manicotti and not lasagna. I miss my cousin Richard tying my mother in her apron strings to the refrigerator so she would be held hostage. I miss my grandmother not helping out and hearing my mother complain about it. And I miss seeing my Aunt Fran slice the turkey with the skill of an orthopedic surgeon. I miss everyone I no longer see because either life has changed or they are no longer here.

But I also love my own family’s Thanksgiving tradition. I enjoy making a big breakfast for my children and dressing up to go to the club for dinner. I enjoy the leisure of the day. And even though Thanksgiving is different than that of my youth it is equally wonderful. I am surrounded by people I love and people who love me. And ultimately that is all that really matters. It’s not about water spots or tightly rolled salami. It’s about giving thanks for all the people in your life and being in the moment. Because life is always uncertain. We may never pass this way again.