Things to Relish and to be Thankful

Thanksgiving is right around the corner and I am sure that all of us have some great memories and stories. I for one, would like to see, hear, laugh and commiserate with you.

It seems like everyone in their life has some significant event that symbolizes the passing from childhood to adulthood. One of mine happens to be centered at the Thanksgiving table.

Up until the “significant point” I had always been positioned at the card table (post highchair) also known as the “kids table” next to the grand dining table. Here was where I sat with sibling and cousins.

There were plenty of duties associated with this small piece of annexed real estate. There was an ongoing challenge to make someone laugh, with considerable timing, to make one spew milk from ones’ nostrils. It was also the utmost of fashion to place black, ripe olives acquired from the relish dish, on your fingers to enhance the recitation from the Wizard of Oz (again if one had a true command of this oratory he/she would accomplish the aforementioned ongoing challenge).

Science was discussed and demonstrated at great lengths. One demonstration was the catapulting of green peas with the primitive spoon over considerable distances until the heretics from the “establishment” interfered. Gravity and mammal reactions were studied when the “establishment” forced upon its subjects, items of food undesirable to our finely attuned palates (i.e., cauliflower). This was a simple demonstration of backhanding the article off the edge of the table and watching with awe as a Dachshund, the size of a small canister vacuum, caught the item in mid-flight with the agility of a mongoose. And judging from the size of this animal, this was a favorite demonstration.

Years passed along with many Thanksgiving dinners until it was my time and rightful duty to take my place at the “adult” table. It was a little of a disappointment. I will have to admit though, the height of the table was considerably higher, there was more dishes, there was more room, and I was in charge of the distribution of choice goods. But, I was under critical eye. I longed for the camaraderie of the “kids” table, but there was no turning back.

Later in life I tried to relive my memories with adult friends. After rebuffing their looks, I quickly blamed my actions on the heat from the kitchen (of course I reveled in a soul-warming round of laughter from the “kids” table).

I will end this story and I will leave this saying for those still looking over their shoulder and longing for the kids table: Growing old is mandatory, growing up is optional.

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