The Truth About Thanksgiving

I thought I'd be cute and take all my Thanksgiving memories and roll them into a neat funny little piece about dysfunction at its finest. And it worked for me. It made everything seem funny instead of sad. But today I actually had to endure another family holiday feast and it wasn't humorous at all. It was gut wrenching, depressing, and unbearably lonely for me. The names have not been changed to protect the inocent, because there are no inocent.

The day began with a call from my youngest daughter. She'd been drinking and fighting with her boyfriend all night and was hungover and in a foul mood. She informed me that she was not going to go to her sisters house for dinner. We argued stupidly for 20 minutes and solved nothing. She refused to go and I was left to attend alone.

When I arrived with side dishes in hand, no one but Boo greeted me. My daughter and son in law were too busy bickering over dinner preparations, seating assignments, and the barking dogs. I noticed Johns hand was swollen and was given a "don't go there look" from Wendy. She pulled me aside later and told me that he'd gotten so angry this morning he'd hit one of the dogs hard enough to injure his hand. Frankly, I hope it's broken. I quickly joined in, helping any way I could around the kitchen, all the while absorbing the tension between them and wishing I could disappear.

Johns side of the family arrived within the next hour or so, minus his dad. Apparently another rift between them had resulted in his being asked not to come this year. I sat quietly and listened as the conversation centered around just about any topic that they could argue about. And for the life of me, I simply couldn't see the humor in it any more. The dinner was blessed by a prayer of grace that almost sickened me for all its hypocrisy. They continued to bicker between mouthfuls of food. I chewed and swallowed without tasting anything.

After dinner the group retired to the living room to watch the football game. Everyone that is except Wendy and I. We were left to clear the table and do all the dishes. Not one person got up from the couch to help. Not one! Wendy is pregnant and had worked all morning cooking and cleaning for these fools, and they showed no signs of appreciation. I couldn't see any joy in her face. Apparently she was having trouble seeing humor in the situation too.

I gave myself a break and stole away to an upper bedroom to call my sweetheart who was attending his family holiday dinner. I was greeted with love and laughter as the phone was passed from one member of his family to another. Each wished me a happy thanksgiving and then laughed and made a silly joke at Rudy's expense. So this was how a happy family celebrated together. I wanted to crawl through the phone line and join them. But instead I went back downstairs and finished the dishes. At the earliest opportunity, I made my escape, back to the safety of my little apartment.

Earlier today I'd emailed two young women in California who were enduring lonely, crappy Thanksgivings. One mentioned jokingly a trip to Mc Donalds and the other was working all day. I told them I wished they could be here with family instead. Now I think, how stupid of me. I'd give anything to have been there with them, without family, in love and simple friendship. I can't do Christmas like this. I just can't.