As much as I looked forward to Thanksgiving growing up, I don't even remember most of them now. My family went all out, and one of the kids usually closed out the festivities with a geyser of dessert just before bed. I haven’t been able to stomach pumpkin pie since. Grownups in the beginning stages of tryptophan drowsiness lined the living room - with smokers at the table picking through remnants - just thankful the offspring were out of sight.
Worst one: Celebrating alone at a Waiamea McDonald's with a spread of two double cheeseburgers and a pineapple shake (with fries), the week I deployed to Vietnam. I had a paperback copy of Catch-22 at the table, wondering why I hadn’t thought to read it until then. You can’t say much for my timing, on the first leg of a deployment to Vietnam, long before Peace with Honor, as the U.S. occupation forces were pulling out, while they could. My preoccupation, just like Yossarian’s, was first and foremost, trying to keep my ass from getting shot down and wondering why I was heading west instead of east, where I belonged.
As I recall, I had an after-dinner date with Candace Bergen. OK, T.R. Baskin actually, at an independent movie theater in Honolulu. And I still remember the first scene of that artsy flick, starring James Caan and Candace, meeting at a diner (2:28 into the trailer), shot from the sidewalk through a framed-glass window. She spots him at a table, reading, alone (sans cheeseburgers). Caan notices, smiles and as I remember, he slides his glasses down his nose, they lock eyes, and…damn, I missed my wife like shit. I also remember that feeling, down deep. T.R. Baskin was no match.
The saddest, 2001. Ground Zero was still smoldering - much like most of Gaza today - but our table was full, with family and mixed sensibilities, less the bombs, screams, fear and searing pain. And as unlikely as it must seem today, I was asked to say grace. I almost got through it without tearing up, closing with a skeptic’s affirmation:
Just as important this Thanksgiving is not forgetting there are places at tables in thousands of holiday gatherings around our country that won’t be set. That’s not happening here - in fact we’re setting out additional plates. Let’s pause to remember aching hearts. We’re all family, and we too have endured losses we thought we would never overcome, feeling the same awkward emptiness that only that only a sympathetic God or the passage of time could ease.
Let’s savor our own gathering and offer heartfelt thanks - not only for another year, another Thanksgiving table, but the love that brought us together to fill these seats.
Now, let’s hope my Seahawks don’t get “Baltimor-ed” by the Niners tonight.
And, before I forget, Happy National Genocide (Thanksgiving) Day!
Love it!