This week: Turkey Run! Edited by: Ẃeβ࿚ẂỉԎḈĥmas  
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It was a memorable time in my youth. The excitement of winning something! |
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Hello folks! Happy November. It's the holiday season with Thanksgiving upon us. 
I remember, especially at this time of year, the day I won a raffle at the Italian club my father loved to frequent. It was named after St.Rocco, and did many charitable events for the community. It also had boxing in the summer, an annual Christmas part for the children. Santa Claus even showed up.  We had many wonderful years growing up near that club, for sure!
To raise money for that Christmas party, the club would have a raffle. These purchased tickets went to buying toys to give away on that magical evening. My father gave me a dollar to get a raffle ticket. There were several little prizes to give away. However, the last and "best" prize was the turkey. Well that was one thing very much desired since Thanksgiving was less than a week away.
I'm sitting there with all the attendees and many of our childhood friends. The number was called! It was mine! I jumped up to claim my prize. My father was so happy that he allowed me to get the ticket because evidently I was considered lucky.  Folks, we were getting a Thanksgiving turkey. My father being in the construction business in the North East was always laid off in harsh winter months. We were in the lower economical class back then, so this turkey win was appreciated.
The club president told my father they'd get the turkey to him at the end of the evening. Then, it was time, all the chairs and tables were packed away. Everyone pitches in at these events. We waited in excitement for my prize to be delivered to us. A few minutes later, we hear a gobble-gobble and the sight of a very live and angry turkey held tight by one of the club reps.
My father, mother and us kids were shocked. My father inquired why they didn't just pick up a frozen turkey for the raffle. (Hey, it's a gift from Frank's farm, Joe.)
Dad was perplexed as to where to put a live turkey for the night. My mother said she wouldn't be able to eat a turkey that was going to be treated as a pet by us kids who were already getting attached to the bird. We found it quite amusing. None of our friends had a turkey for a pet.
As we left the club, that plump gobbler escaped my brother's arms and started running up the rainy street. All of us, except my mother, started chasing our pet, soon to be a meal. Finally, the bird was captured by my father who, if I could read his mind said ... well never mind, I can't really repeat that. However, at that moment, with us kids and Mom as witnesses, as much as he would have liked, couldn't ring that turkey's neck right then and there.
Finally home from the short walk up the street, the turkey was introduced to our bathtub. Just imagine ... one bathroom, downstairs. Getting up at night to use the restroom became interesting. The tubbed-turkey was merely feet away from the business seat in that room. The turkey would squawk at me like I was the one who did this to him.
The next morning my parents decided that the turkey would be delivered to my grandfather a block away. He's from Italy. Grew up around farms. Surely he'd know how to kill and clean a turkey. My dad came home empty handed. My pet turkey was gone. Trying to protect us from the horrors of our pet's demise and it's expected presence on a platter atop our table, he said Papa was bringing it to a farm where it could run around and play with its turkey friends. I guess it sort of describes what happens to those turkeys that get Presidential pardons each year. 
The nude turkey was brought to our house the night before the feast. My mother did her thing on Thanksgiving morning. She prepared the turkey for many hours of slow roasting. Unbeknownst to either one of my parents, that turkey was a stranger to us.
That evening my parents and grandparents gathered at the table for the feast. My mother looked at the beautiful turkey on the platter, and I swear she had misty eyes. Oh, how quickly we forget where our food comes from when we know it personally. She would not eat a bite of the turkey, rather, she went for the side dishes.
At the end of the fabulous feast, when the pies graced the table, and the chestnuts were served all hot and steamy, my father talked with his father about the perfection of his preparing the turkey for our table.
My grandfather, such a sweet, kind, gentle man whispered something to my father, which we found out later that night, that made him burst our laughing.
"Hey, Joe. The turkey was looking me in my eye. I couldn't kill it. I brought it to the butcher and traded for an already dead one." 
Once my mother found out the truth that the dead turkey was no guest in our house, she was able to enjoy her turkey sandwiches that night.
And that was the Thanksgiving I love to revisit in my mind to this day. 
It's a wrap for this edition of the Comedy Newsletter.
Until next time--laugh hard, laugh often!
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oldgreywolf on wheels 
It's called "designed obsolescence".
So . . . which appliance is next?
The dryer is acting up. The washer must go. Both to be replaced in the spring after my return from Florida. 
Beholden 
Thank you very much for including my short story, A Tiny Trick or Treat, in your Editor's Picks section.
You're welcome! 
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Comedy: November 20, 2024 Issue [#12842]
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