Thanksgiving is a ritual sacrifice with pie...

I remember when I was a kid, I hated Thanksgiving. It was my least favorite holiday of the year. We always had to get up really early and put on fancy clothes and shoes, which I couldn't stand. I remember all these cute velvet dresses and tights and shiny patent leather shoes that I had to put on. I was definitely not comfortable in those outfits. I just wanted to wear pants and a t-shirt so I didn't have to be 'ladylike' and sit properly without flashing everyone my underpants. I was also annoyed at having to worry about getting my clothes dirty because I just wanted to go outside and play.

But the uncomfortable clothes were definitely not the worst part. After getting all fancied up, we had to get in the car and drive for 3 hours to my grandma's house. And when we would get there, she would greet us at the door and saying something rude about how ugly my mom's hair was or how chubby me and my brother were. The only person she was ever nice to was my dad. And that's just because he was a man that was not related to her, so she would actually flirt with my dad. Yuck. And when he was still alive, my Papa Al would just sit in a chair reading the paper and never talk to anyone. He wasn't unfriendly exactly, just very quiet. Then my grandma's cousin Lillian would be there. Always smiling and happy to see us. She was the best part of Thanksgiving because she would actually be nice to me and let me play with these fancy flamenco dancer dolls that my grandma had on display, and never would let me touch unless Lillian was there urging her to let me play with them.

We were never allowed to turn on the TV though, and there were no other kids but me and my brother, so things got boring really fast. My grandma wouldn't let anyone in the kitchen and would actually swat you with a dish towel if you dared enter the room. But my mom would always go in there anyway and they'd bicker and fight and my mom would be upset that my grandma was being mean.

When it came time to eat, the food was always good. But we were forced to say prayers first which was totally weird to me since we never went to church. And one of the worst times ever was when my grandma wanted me to stand up and say some special prayer I'd never even heard of. And that caused an uproar because my mom always lied to her and said we went to church even if we never did. And I was coached to lie and make up stories about what I did in Sunday School, even if I'd never set foot in a Sunday School and didn't even know what went on there. Then there was always some drama over the fact that my brother wouldn't eat turkey without ketchup. My grandma would freak out that my mom brought a bottle with her because my grandma never had ketchup. Then she'd get upset that my mom let us drink sodas, particularly root beer, which she insisted was actual beer and my mom was a horrible person for giving her kids beer.

After the meal was over, I was more than ready to get out of there. But we had to sit and talk forever about nothing that anyone cared about. Usually just more pleasantries and lies about what our lives were really like and what we did. Sometimes to escape I would go outside on the screened in porch and just run around and pretend I was somewhere else, with other people. I would go in the garden and get lost in my mind about the type of Thanksgiving I would see on TV and in movies, and wish my family was like that.

Occasionally the tradition of going to my grandma's would change a little. We sometimes went to my Papa Al's son's house. I enjoyed that so much more. There were kids and a TV we were allowed to watch, and sprawling acres of land and vineyards, and cats to play with. The people there were complete strangers to me though and I never did good around strangers. To this day, I have no idea who any of them actually were since they were only very loosely related to me by marriage. And I never even remember eating at their house, but I know we were in another room at the 'kid's table' and thankfully didn't need to be subjected to the boring adult conversations that were so uncomfortable for me at my grandma's house. But unfortunately we only went there a couple of times.

After Papa Al died, it was always just my grandma and Lillian. And the older I got, the less I understood why we bothered to go there at all. No one enjoyed it. No one had fun. No one wanted to be there. And even if family is something that matters a lot to me, I just couldn't accept that the word 'family' obligated you to spend so much time with people you didn't even like and who never treated you well. Thanksgiving should be about spending time with the people you love and are thankful to have in your life. And if that means your blood family, then wonderful. But if that means friends or someone else's family you like better, then that's where you should be.

After my grandma became debilitated from dementia, we stopped having to go to her house finally. My mom would just cook a turkey for our little family. No outsiders. No dressing up. No fake lies around the dinner table. And after my parents divorced, my mom started inviting anyone who didn't have a place to go, to our house for Thanksgiving. She wanted to make sure that no one was left out or eating frozen turkey pot pies by themselves. I enjoyed those holidays so much more than I ever enjoyed them as a child.

Once I had a serious boyfriend though (and later a husband), I became obligated to have 2 Thanksgiving's. One with my family, and one with their family. My first boyfriend, his mother was a total hippie who always served Toferky instead of a real bird. But just for me that year, she made a real turkey. And it was the worst meal I've ever tasted. She didn't season anything at all and kept raving about the wonderful beauty of the natural untainted flavors of the food. I just nodded my head and pretended to agree and choke down this terrible meal. I felt bad. She did it for me to sort of accept me into their family, but I could barely eat any of it. I tried though!

Then when I met my husband, Thanksgiving became even more stressful. My mom always had her dinner early. More like a lunch. And his mom had her dinner at 6pm. (or so she always planned to have it done then) But we'd stuff ourselves at my mom's and then rush over to my in-laws. And it was always complete chaos. Little kids screaming and babies crying and people fighting and his mom running around like a crackhead barking orders at everyone. The 6pm dinner time would come and go and maybe around 8:30 we'd be lucky to sit down to eat. And then his mom would grill me about everything and put me on the spot and get upset if I didn't eat enough, or didn't try a dish that I knew I wouldn't like. I could not wait to get out of there because it was too reminiscent of my childhood Thanksgiving's.

One year we flew to Michigan for Thanksgiving and that ended up being the most uncomfortable holiday yet. My in laws had moved away (thank god!) after only 2 years of me being with my husband. But they paid for us to come visit, and I thought maybe it'd be fun. I'd never been to Detroit before, and it was pretty exciting when it started snowing heavily the instant our plane landed. I was running around like a dork in the snow and they all thought I was weird. But that's just because they lived in the snow and I never did!

But things went downhill fast. Especially when I realized his mom had 6 German Shepards in her yard. The one dog I'm deathly afraid of and she was irritated at me for not wanting them in the house when I was there. But I would have freaked the fuck out if they came near me. And then I realized their house backed up to a train track. All night long the house would shake when a train went by. Then by some horrible twist of fate the bed we were sleeping in broke. We were in the attic room so everyone heard the bed crash down and thought we were doing something interesting to break it...we weren't! Believe me, I kind of wish we were because that's a good story (and probably way better sex than we've ever actually had....) but alas, the bed was just a piece of crap that we later found out she got at a yard sale. But my monster in law kept giving me the evil eye after that as if I was some crazed sex fiend that imprisoned her baby and broke her furniture.

Then more drama erupted when we realized that my mother in law was having an affair with my husbands father. See, they were divorced and had been divorced for 15 years or so. She was married to someone else. Someone I actually liked quite a bit. And my husband and I were unfortunate enough to walk into his dad's house and catch them together. Talk about freaking awkward! No one knew what to do or say. But apparently my husbands stepfather already suspected this and had already been pissed to know that his two little girls were calling my husbands father, 'Dad'. Chaos erupted Thanksgiving day. The meal was running super late, even by her standards. My husbands stepfather was drunk and decided to confront my mother in law with the affair (we did not tell him!!) She was drunk and started throwing things at him. I remember a carrot flying out of the kitchen and hitting the wall.

By the time dinner made it onto the table around 9:45 pm no one was even talking to each other anymore. It was dead quiet. The kind of quiet where you just want to crawl under the table and hide because shit is about to get real. We ate our food quickly and we got the hell out of the room. There was no 'family bonding' and conversation. We just ate and went upstairs and locked the door. The next day we were supposed to decorate the Christmas tree because this was their family tradition. But more fighting erupted and the tree was kicked over, only halfway strung with lights, and that was the end of it. No one ever finished it. And thankfully the next day we were on a plane out of that hell, never to return.

My Thanksgiving today was a lot more low key. Just my immediate family hanging out at my mom's house. But nothing ever seems to go perfectly well at any holiday. My son was being a huge pain in the ass and wouldn't talk to anyone, and sat in the other room constantly texting someone, rather than be a part of anything with us. My mom miscalculated the time the turkey needed to cook, so it was still bleeding in places. My stepdad wasn't feeling good from his diabetes so he was definitely off his game with the carving of the semi raw turkey. We could only eat the top part of the breast because the rest of the turkey needed to cook for another 2 hours. But it still tasted good. Its not like we needed more food or anything.

Then after the meal, my brother hooked up his laptop to the TV to show us all his latest movie trailer that he made. I was really impressed. He was shopping around the trailer to producers in the hopes someone will give him the money to make the full feature. Then he decided to show us the completed movie he made that he's won film festival awards for. That was fun because I hadn't seen it yet. And even more fun to see a bunch of people I know dressed up like zombies and getting shot in the head with arrows. My brother is very talented at filming and editing and producing...but the scripts need a little work. I wish he wanted to make movies that weren't about zombies because then I could help him out!

But I'd say the zombie movie watching at least made this Thanksgiving stand out as a decent one. I just wish that my son wasn't so completely anti-social. He had been excited for today, and then some stupid argument he had with my husband right before we left, meant he was a complete standoffish jerk the entire day. It's embarrassing to me. And then the real kicker for me that kind of tossed this Thanksgiving into the crapper, was when we were leaving, I hugged my mom and my brother, and my son refused to hug anyone. It was rude and embarrassing. But worse yet, my mom went to hug my husband and said, "I never get to hug you..." and he flinched away from her and said, "I don't hug people." and refused to do it.

I wanted to die because I was so embarrassed and hurt and pissed off at him. How could he do that to my mom? It was uncalled for and just plain mean. It's bad enough my kid refuses to be a normal person and hug his grandma goodbye, but my husband? I guess I know where my son gets it from. But I was so upset that as soon as we got out the door I told him, "that was the absolute rudest thing I've ever seen and I cannot believe you did that." And then I started crying. A lot. I felt beaten down and just so upset that the only person who seemed to care about the holiday and my family, was me. I was so upset that my husband went back into the house and apologized to her. He said she seemed fine, but I know my mom, and I know what he did hurt her feelings big time. He apologized to me later too, but I just don't understand him or know why he's so uncomfortable showing any affection or emotions to anyone. Ugh. But that's a story for another time, another blog. I only mentioned it here because it was just one more notch in the story of my very imperfect Thanksgivings.

Maybe next year I'll get the Thanksgiving of my dreams?