Thanksgiving with James

         “Come, my beautiful family, let's ready ourselves for the feast!” My father called. His big loud voice overflowed with joy, making the apartment feel warmer and brighter than the pumpkin-scented candles decorating the small table.

         “Come on A.J.,” My mother called, excitement creeping into her shrill voice, “Help me finish bringing the food out.” My older brother rose from his seat and reluctantly shuffled off towards the kitchen.

         “Have a seat, son!” My father gestured for me to join him. When I was unable to climb onto his big strong lap, he scooped me up. He hugged me tightly, and his big, strong arms enveloped me in a way that only a father's could.

         “You've grown so much already!” He'd said, his voice overflowing with pride, “Before long, you'll be caring for me, instead!”

         “Milton!” I heard my mother's voice. “Quit smothering the boy! Its time to eat!” My father reluctantly set me back down on the floor.

         “Hurry up, squirt!” Even before Thanksgiving dinner A.J. couldn't set aside his jealousy towards me and my father and enjoy a nice meal.

         “All right everybody, settle down! It's time to begin!” After we said grace, my father motioned for us to raise our glasses (and my plastic cup) for a toast.

         “May the four of us remain as close a family as is humanly possible, and may we have as much to be thankful for in the years to come as we do at this very moment!” Our glasses met, and my mother eagerly began to cut into the turkey...

         

        It's still hard for me to believe that was nineteen years ago. A lot has changed since then, and, though I hate to admit it, my father's high hopes for the future never quite came to fruition. He passed away a few months afterward, and things were never the same. My mother did what she could to care for us, though financially times were tough for her. A.J., however, made her feel as though those efforts were in vain. See, A.J. is my half-brother, and, like his father, is a downright sour individual. We're also fifteen years apart, so he and I literally have nothing in common. My father’s death destroyed the family's bond, dividing us, and A.J. succeeded in widening that gap even further.

        I myself gave up on Thanksgiving years ago, letting the spirit of the holiday die along with my father. Every year I perform the rituals and customs of the holiday, never once feeling that same joy as I did on that last Thanksgiving dinner all those years ago. I still participate because everyone else around me begs me to.

         And I just know already that this year is going to be the worst Thanksgiving yet. This will be the first time I spend the holiday with my fiancee Alexia, and we're going to be sharing it with both of our families.

         My family is small. A.J. made plans to spend Thanksgiving with his new girlfriend this year, and I'm willing to admit the thought of him having a girlfriend is one I just can't wrap my head around. My mother and my aunt got into a horrible feud years ago, thus destroying any chance of ever having Thanksgiving with our cousins. My father, as far as I know, had no relatives, which means only my mother will be joining us, and she is ecstatic that she doesn't have to cook this year.

         It’s seeing Alexia's family that I'm actually dreading. Her immediate family alone is enormous! She's invited her five sisters, two brothers, and grandmother to dine at her parent's house. I've been told that not all of her siblings will be coming, though I haven't a clue as to who will and will not be attending, because I've never been able to tell the difference between Elizabeth, Juliana, and the sister who lives in England whose name I never remember. Come to think of it, he only ones who stand out in my memory are Alexia's younger siblings Agnes and brother Ellie. Agnes, Ellie, and their mother too, all remind me of big balls of lard with heads, while everybody else in Alexia's family are as skinny as twigs.

         I myself am on the leaner side, though my reflection in the mirror shows me  I've got my father's broad shoulders and strong, masculine arms. My mother always said I was the spitting image of him, and now that I'm twenty-four I'm staring to understand what she means.

         After picking up my mother, we all (there are children in the car too) make the drive to Alexia's parents' estate somewhere out in the countryside. The whole way there Alexia and my mother are nagging and poking at me about this, that, and the other thing, distracting me as I try to focus on the road. I'm starting to wonder why all of the women in my life feel the need to complain constantly.

         Finally we arrive, and my soon-to-be mother-in-law smothers us with kisses and hugs, all the while ushering us into the large dining room with its rather early and highly obnoxious Christmas decorations. To my irritation, Ellie is not only already seated, but has even saved me a place at the table.

         “Come an' sit with me, future brotha in law!” Alexia and her family are all British, but Ellie and Agnes have particularly heavy accents. I glance over at Alexia in the hopes that she'll rescue me, but my cry for help is met with her usual stern frown; she thinks my dislike of her family is irrational.

         “Ah, Teecooh!” Agnes hollers just as I am about to accept the cruel hand of fate and sit down next to Ellie, “Cum 'ere en se hullo!” She wraps her fat, meaty arms around me and says a lot of other stuff I can't understand while suffocating me. Agnes' British sounds more like gibberish.

         The other guests haven’t even finished arriving yet and already Thanksgiving is becoming unbearable. The only thing on Ellie's mind is desert, and he begins to torture me with his fantasies about the pumpkin pies, red velvet cupcakes, and chocolate turkeys apparently calling to him from the other room. Two of Agnes' ogre-like children are punching each other, while somebody else's kid (is it Elizabeth's, or Juliana's? Who can say for sure?) is running around the house disturbing the five thousand model Christmas trees that have been put up as decorations. All of the women present except for Agnes (that is, if you even consider the manly and hideous Agnes to be a woman) are scampering around and bickering amongst one another like rabid squirrels in an attempt to make sure the feast will soon be ready. They are oblivious to the chaos that is unfolding all around me.

         “Mother, may I help to set the table?” Tiffany asks. Alexia has two adopted children who I will legally adopt after our wedding. The oldest is nine-year-old Tiffany, who came to us from Ohio. Then there's two-year-old Juma, who was born in Zimbabwe. While his dark complexion makes him look a little out of place, Juma's personality fits right into the rest of this crazy family.

         “Of course dear!” Alexia says sweetly. “Follow me and Grandmother will give you some silverware to bring out...”

         “I'm hungry!” Ellie whines, pulling at my sleeve, “When do we eat?”

         I ignore him, hoping that will be my only task for the evening, but my mother's shrill voice (and now husky after years of smoking) begins to screech into my ears like fingernails on a chalkboard.

         “Don't just sit there Tico! Go and make yourself useful!”

         I try setting the table, but Alexia's mother screams at me when I almost knock over a creepy looking porcelain statue of ‘Ol’ Saint Nick,’ so I give up on helping. Standing over in the corner of the room, trying to at least look busy, I suddenly think of something.

         “Hey Lex!” I call to Alexia, who’s carrying a big bowl of squash.

         “Oh, what is it Tico!? Can't you see I'm very busy?” She teeters about for a moment and almost loses her grip on the bowl, and then she releases an exasperated sigh.

         “Where's James?” I ask, forgiving her rudeness. Preparing an entire feast for a bunch of circus clowns can be stressful.

         “He's upstairs in the guest room, sleepin'.”

         “I'd better go and check on him,” I say, already half-way up the stairs.

         “Don't wake him, Dear! He's been grouchy all morning and I can't deal with him right now if he wakes!”

         Relieved at last to be away from all the excitement of the dining room, I make my way up the stairs to where James is sleeping. James, I forgot to mention, is our son, and after he was born three months ago, Alexia and I have been busier than ever. In fact, between making the mortgage and the car payments, preparing for the wedding (which is next month), working long hours managing my cafe, driving Tiffany to gymnastics and trying to help her with homework, playing every night with Juma, and checking up on my mother at least once a week, I sometimes forget that little James is even here.

         James is still awake when I come in, his bright, green eyes gazing up sleepily at me. When my mother had seen James for the first time, she had cried happy tears and told me that he looked exactly as I had when I was first born. Glancing down into the crib, I wonder if my father had looked the same when he was a baby.

         Reaching into the crib and holding James in my arms, and gently rock him. As I look into his sleepy face, I realize something. Thanksgiving isn't about turkeys, big bowls of squash and pumpkin pie. And it isn't about dressing nice and engaging in awkward conversations with in-laws, either. My father, I was suddenly remembering, had made this exact same realization all those years ago, when the five-year-old version of me had climbed up into his lap, longing for his embrace.

         The true meaning of Thanksgiving, I now understand, is about being thankful for everything you have and appreciating it before its too late. It's about spending time with the family and friends whom you love and who love you unconditionally. I hold James close, knowing in my heart that this Thanksgiving will be the best one in almost twenty years, because I have a caring fiancee and three beautiful children to share it with. And just as my father had done for me, I vow to teach this very same lesson to James when he is older.

         

         “...and may we have as much to be thankful for in the years to come as we do at this very moment!”



I guess my father's wishes hadn't been in vain after all.