Thanksgiving

His Story prompt 22

It was time for my father's usual Thanksgiving blessing before we could dig in. Fourteen of us sat waiting, the mouth-watering food laid out in front of us, the aromas mingling and making my stomach growl. I could skip the Roasted Turkey and live in the side dishes alone.

He rattled off the traditional Catholic blessing. Next would be him talking to all of us off the cuff. This usually ended in tears, depending on what our year had been like. My father was a crier, even a sympathetic one on occasion. He stood and looked at each of us before he started. With the prayer out of the way, the blubbering would commence and then I could dig into the food I'd spent the entire day cooking.

“I'm so grateful that we are all together today. We want you all to know how much we love you, and how proud we are of all of you,” he said, and then looked at my mother. “This will be our last Thanksgiving together as a family.”

I was so stunned that I immediately jumped up on my feet. “What are you talking about?” I shouted.

He reached down and squeezed my mother's shoulder.

“For the love of all that's holy. Let him speak,” my brother Mike said.

My sister, Michelle, interjected next. “Yeah, let him speak.”

I held up my hands in surrender and sat down before my brother Joe Jr could annoy me too.

“We're moving to Ireland!” my mother blurted, excitement thick in her voice and a bright smile plastered on her face.

The rest of my family started chattering, everyone congratulating my parents, everyone but me. I knew what this would mean for me. More responsibility. Stepping into that role of keeping everyone together. My parents all put these things squarely on my shoulders because I'm the oldest. The rest of my siblings were lucky, they avoided those serious conversations where our parents laid out all that was to be expected in their absence, be firm, yet caring, overstep when warranted, and above all else, inform our parents of everything that went on like I was their personal spy. It made me crazy on good days when they were off on vacation, but this– this was a permanent undertaking, one I wanted no part of.



Wc: 387