A Thanksgiving Bet

My parents had an annual bet. Dad claimed it never snowed here in Cleveland before Thanksgiving, and Mom maintained that it did. Out of that thorny disagreement arose decades of debates, resentments, pouting, and loyalty tests to see which of us kids took whose side in interpreting the weather. 

In later years, after he’d lost the bet a few times, Dad modified his original position to say that there was never incapacitating snow before Thanksgiving. Was it a light dusting or snowmageddon? That depended on your agenda and parental allegiance.

Every family has its quirks, customs, and debacles. There was the time we had someone who is a culinary legend in his own mind serve us a shoe-leather barbecued turkey. The year of the fried turkey was the ultimate culinary catastrophe involving pyrotechnics and overflowing oil. It ties in first place with Joe's father's exploding turkey.

Nothing surpasses the year a robber showed up at my parents' home and my mother rescheduled the robbery for a more convenient time. Sure enough, he returned the day after Thanksgiving and made away with all the cash on hand. 

As I noted in an earlier post, I grew up gathering for the traditional Thanksgiving meal on the Wednesday night before the actual holiday. This odd custom was explained by the fact that our beloved housekeeper Rena, who did the heavy lifting for our annual feast, understandably wanted Thursday off to cook her own family’s meal on Thanksgiving. With our feast already over by Thanksgiving Day, my family lounged around. Some watched the parade or football and all ate leftovers at our leisure.

My sister continues our family’s tradition of Wednesday Thanksgiving dinners, and, like my mother before me, I am grateful to have someone else put in all the work. Missy does a fantastic job and does it all by herself. 

 

In recent years, Joe and I have spent the actual holiday with his sister’s family. Lucky me, I get back-to-back Thanksgiving dinners and –- wonder of wonders -- one held on the holiday itself. 

 

As you embrace your traditions, petty squabbles, and kitchen catastrophes, know that I am thankful to have you here, reading about mine. 

 

And Dad, you won the bet this year.