For the first time since 2003, we are spending Thanksgiving at my Dad and Alicia’s house and I cannot wait. Thanksgiving is my all time favorite holiday and I have the best memories of this holiday with my family. We have the best non-traditional traditions I think.
We’ve tended to kick the day off with champagne brunch.
We also do that for Christmas and Easter.......we likey the drinky.
One of the first years that Alicia made Thanksgiving dinner for us, she made croissants but they didn't rise. Instead they spread out and stayed really flat. They were just as delicious but they were flat. Because we are an especially sensitive crowd we laughed raucously and dubbed them flahssants. Get it? Flat + Croissants=Flahssants. Its spelled phonetically. We ask for them every year.
Another year my Dad sat down to the fully loaded Thanksgiving table, looked around in agitation and demanded to know where the jelly was. The rest of us were perplexed as nobody could recall there ever being jelly on the Thanksgiving table before. Nevertheless, he swore there was supposed to be jelly on the table for the flahssants. At every Thanksgiving thereafter (and many other holidays and sometimes just for the hell of it), jelly is placed on the table and within sight of my Dad’s chair. We all take turns reminding him that the jelly is there.
Yet another year, my Dad passed a bowl of corn to my brother, Ryan. Ryan declined the corn, saying that he did not like corn. My dad stumbled over this,"You don't like corn!? Since when? You love corn!" The remainder of the meal was spent discussing how much Ryan had loved corn as a child. Each of us recalled specific times we had witnessed him eating corn. I think he might have finally agreed that he could tolerate creamed corn just to make us stop. From that point forward the bowl of corn is placed directly in front of Ryan and we take turns offering him servings.
My Grandma joined us for Thanksgiving a couple of times. One year, as my Dad served himself some candied yams, she warned him sternly not to eat too many yams. She recalled a time that he had gotten sick from eating too many yams. The rest of the family, of course, stored this information away on the spot. At the next Thanksgiving we all warned Dad not to eat too many yams. Lest he get sick. We still warn him to this day. He might forget!
It seems all our traditions are based on mocking each other.......I guess that's why we start off with champagne...
Whenever I talk about holidays with my family, Jeff likes to throw in the “remember when you all passed your Dad’s new gun around the table after Thanksgiving dinner?” and then I roll my eyes and correct him, “that was EASTER, get it right!”