By: Lora Wimsatt
Tradition, defined in absolutely the loosest term possible, would be something that is done the same way at least twice in a row.
But even within these wide-open parameters, my family really doesn’t have much of a Thanksgiving tradition.
The closest we’ve come was back when I was a kid, when we usually – but not always – went over the river and through the woods to my Grandmother’s house in Indiana. She always had turkey, and always served it on what we called “the turkey dishes.” I didn’t care for the dishes but liked the story behind them, which was that she had admired the dishes in the store window for weeks but couldn’t afford them. Finally, after Thanksgiving, they were marked down, and she bought them.
We kids didn’t use the turkey dishes – and didn’t get turkey either. We got paper plates (fine with us) and had a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, which was really fine with us. We sat at the card table in the kitchen, where my cousin put kernels of corn in the gaps where her teeth were missing and my little brother grossed us out by pouring gravy on his plate and stirring everything together into a soupy mess.
Other than that, however, I have no idea what my Grandmother’s Thanksgiving traditions might have been. As a child, I suppose I assumed she spent the day with the Pilgrims.
Nor did I ever ask my Mom about how she had celebrated Thanksgiving before we kids came along. It was difficult, if not impossible, to imagine Mom had ever been or done anything before she was, well, Mom.
Mom did have one quirky Thanksgiving practice. She always bought a can of cranberry sauce, which she sliced neatly and arranged on a plate on our dining room table. Nobody ever ate it, including her. But she thought it looked pretty.
I never really thought about the concept of “Thanksgiving traditions” when my kids were young. We were pretty flexible about the whole thing. We had turkey once in awhile, sometimes even with “all the trimmings,” although more often just with mashed potatoes, corn and rolls. It makes for a pretty colorless plate but that’s what everyone liked.
We’ve also had meatloaf, chicken or even pizza. Whatever.
As unconventional – untraditional – as it was, it worked for us.
And now, my kids are all grown up and living on their own. Three are married and two have children of their own – my granddaughters. They have adapted seamlessly into their in-laws’ holiday traditions. I guess being flexible all those years paid off.
I’m left to wonder, what will my kids remember about our family’s Thanksgivings? There were no special dishes, no special recipes. Is there anything at all for my children to pass down to my grandchildren? Anything about which they might say, “When I was little, my family always …”
I think about this for a long time.
And then I smile … realizing that yes, even a family as untraditional as mine does have a Thanksgiving tradition.
Years from now – generations from now – my grandchildren and their children and their grandchildren can all say, “My family always, always, gave thanks for our blessings.