There are some things in life that are worth remembering, and others that aren’t.
I want to say it was 1993 or so, when we all got together for Thanksgiving as a family. My half-siblings and their spouses/significant others, my aunt and cousins, my parents, and my grandma. We all had Thanksgiving dinner at my grandmother’s condo here in PHL.
When you’re 7 years old and don’t know much about the world, it’s easy to take things for granted. It’s easy to see the world behind rose colored glasses because when you’re a child, you see everything as being happy. No one is sad, no one is angry, everyone loves each other, and everyone is having a good time. My cousins and my niece and I got in trouble for playing hide and seek between floors of the complex, and we went to Starbucks where I had my very first Frappuccino. My mom and my aunt still treated each other with love and kindness, and everyone got along. When my grandma told everyone that dinner was ready and to get to the table, we listened. Kids at the kids table and adults in the dining room.
As you get older, things change. People die. People become estranged. You fall out of contact with people and you get forgotten about until it’s convenient for them.
Twenty years later, I found myself enjoying Thanksgivukkah dinner with my parents and DH. We had turkey breast and brisket, cornbread stuffing, potato latkes, and cauliflower. Aside from the traditional Hanukkah foods, this is how it’s been for however long. Until the pie came out, and my sister the Yoga Mistress decided to FaceTime us on my dad’s iPhone.
I spent the next 15 minutes locked in my parents’ pink bathroom, refusing to talk on the phone or be seen on the camera. I don’t like speaking to people who only make time for me when it’s a good time for them.
Aside from not wanting to speak to my siblings, it was another good Thanksgiving.