Rats for Thanksgiving?

And Other Turkey Fanfare

“Pass the rats, please,” Mom said, watching the horror emerge in our guests’ expressions.

Our family never made turkey for Thanksgiving. We rarely hosted anyway, so I only enjoyed a traditional turkey meal at my aunt’s house or at our family friend’s house where we spent a few Thanksgivings because my dad traveled for work and was often missing for the fall holiday.🍂

On those few occasions we welcomed guests to our little ranch in Detroit, you would find on our table mashed potatoes, some sort of chunky homemade gravy, breaded zucchini wedges (my dad’s favorite and my most intolerable), a green salad, cucumbers slathered in sour cream, baked beans, venison sausage if my dad was lucky that year, and red meat sauce poured over potato gnocchi, what my mom liked to call “rats” since the dumplings resembled the little baby rodents. How delighted with herself she was when she could answer someone’s question of “What are you serving for dinner?"

“RATS!” I can still hear her cackle all these years later.

I was not, what my family liked to call the measure of a proper child, “a good eater.”

I picked and gagged, spreading my food around the plate until it was a cold and disgusting mush. This did not make my parents happy, and I got many a dirty, stern looks. However, I could outlast their attention since they filled up on whisky that dulled their senses and caused them to soon forget about me. Plus, we always had a dog hanging around, so I could surreptitiously pass off a few nuggets under the table into an eager, canine mouth. And then my cousin and I could zip off to her room to play records—far away from that one weird uncle, smelling of sambuca, who always held on too tight and a bit too long for those hugs of greetings.

As an adult, I finally widened my horizons and found that I enjoyed more food options—still not in the way most people view food, but more to the side of normal.

I’ve come to love the traditional Thanksgiving meal in these later years. And decorating the table is most of the fun. For the last thirteen years or so, I’ve hosted, and except for a few helpful dishes, like my daughter’s special cranberry relish, I like making everything myself. It takes a good week or more in advance to plan and decorate, and then you know the deal—all day on Thursday for about twenty minutes of eating. And the rest cleaning.

Some people don’t think it’s worth it.

I do.

This year, we changed it up a bit and traveled south to share the day with my daughter’s in-laws. Eight of us crashed their big party of about fifty relatives. Not really “crashed.” We were all very cordially invited by a most welcoming family.

And I couldn’t wait.

My daughter started out her career as an event planner, and plan events she did for the days leading up to Thursday. We went to see Wicked together.

The best part—sitting with my adult children (even though I had to get up twice during the very long movie🤦🏼‍♀️) . But yes, we loved it!

We took the family to the botanical gardens and walked around all evening donning only a light jacket—unlike the 9 ° wind chill where I come from. The adults loved the light show as much as the children, and we danced with joy under an arbor to a DJ playing Christmas music.

Then dinner on Thursday for 47 people in a beautiful clubhouse with an outdoor balcony attached . . . where we found ourselves chasing a 2-year-old a couple of times in case he got the bright idea to climb the railing.

I am indeed blessed to really love both of my daughters’ in-laws, extensions of my own family.

Ham, traditional turkey, Cajun turkey, orange chicken, sweet potatoes with Crown Maple syrup, mashed potatoes, collard greens, and a GF mac & cheese with seven different cheeses were among the favorite delectables. And I cleaned my plate.

The best part—blending several different families together and watching the eldest member hold his youngest great-grandson on his lap for a photo.

When my daughter’s father-in-law gave directions for the lines to the food set-up BEFORE he invited the 93-year-old to say the blessing, my 2 & a half year old granddaughter shouted, “Amen. Now me food?” She was hungry.

I always wanted to give my daughters better memories than I carry from 1970s Detroit, and I have found that they are, in fact, giving me memories to cherish for the rest of my life. What a gift.

Truly grateful this season.

Thank you for being here, please ❤️ (below) if you enjoyed this piece, it really helps others find it. And any comments about your holiday are welcome too.