The 4th Thursday of November is definitely the bestest holiday. Food, Family, Friends and Football. Four of the five Fs. I most fondly remember the Thanksgivings of yesteryear. The big old family reunions, which I looked forward to, until about five seconds after I hit the front porch, then it all comes back ... why I left home. And they always made me sit at that stupid fold-up cardboard kids table. Never got to graduate to the wooden table because none of them would die. Darn medical advances.
Thanksgiving was my mother's designated holiday and she thought she was cooking for the Eighth Tank Battalion. Every year she'd seek out a mutant poultry farm and buy a turkey the size of a La-Z-Boy recliner, so it was turkey for weeks. Turkey till you trot. Turkey sandwiches, turkey salad, turkey ala king, turkey shakes, until finally, turkey carcass in hot water. Soup? No, Ma, it's skeleton juice. Gobble till you wobble.
Read the rest of this op-ed on AOL News.
Thanks as usual to Gina Misiroglu of Red Room put me in touch with the AOL people, which is one of the great ways she's bringing traffic to Red Room and getting attention for Red Room's authors.