Turkey, ham, dressing, green bean casserole, yams, cranberry sauce, and creamed corn. Every kind of pie, especially pumpkin, sweet potato, cherry, apple and blueberry, and chocolate. Football. Da Bears and Lions. Memphis and Tulane. Hugs from aunts and cousins. Grandkids, nephews and nieces running around the house, screaming, laughing, playing and fighting. Busy kitchens and loud uncles.
The smell of food everywhere. Smokers on the porch, trash talking everything from politics to family gossip. Teens trying to avoid the adults and little kids. Dads and sons talking about work and cars while they yell at the television when the receiver drops the ball. “We was robbed” is said at some point during the game.
Sitting at the kids table, even though you’re twenty, because the “grown folks” have taken up all the chairs at the “big table”. The one person who actually starts an impassioned conversation about the latest election at the table. The prayer to give thanks. The feeding frenzy. The seconds, and the thirds. Listening to that one that can’t close their mouth when they chew, because he’s sitting beside you. Watching a momma get up from her chair for the umpteenth time, because junior needs a drink, another diaper, a dessert, or just can’t be away from her so she can eat. The one baby that throws up. Going to watch some more of the game, balancing a pie in your lap. Going outside again to smoke, because it’s gotten “crazy in there”. The one that burps. The other one, that does that “other thing” that his wife gives him an evil look about.
Listening to Daddy tell a story. Hearing Momma’s soothing voice talking to the grandbaby when he trips and cries. The “how y’all doing’s” that turn into arguments over old stuff that happened before half of these people were alive. The “touch” football game that appears spontaneously out in the yard, with every age group there. The Old Guy that’s the non-running quarterback. The young kids that make the insane one-handed catch that wins the game. The one that cries “out of bounds”, even though there’s no referee, or chalk line, to back him up. “We was robbed” is yelled out, again. The Old Guy that turns his ankle wrong and hollers “time out!” The sweat and smiles.
The kids that have kids now. The middle-aged folks who don’t realize that sixty ain’t middle-aged unless they’re going to live until one hundred and twenty. The young Mommas that are so busy being everything for their family. The young Daddys that are trying to enjoy this one day without worrying how they’ll pay for Christmas. The aunts and uncles that are always there to make life interesting and to get nephews and nieces into, and out of, trouble. The Great Grandma who looks at this wild bunch and knows why God put her on this earth.
The empty chairs and the ones we miss that were here just a minute ago. The stories about them that are told around the table. The times past. The times to come.
I’m Thankful to God for all of it. I hope you are, too.
God bless Y’all.
Rolling Stones 