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Those Enticing Thanksgiving Day Aromas by Dee Ann E. L. Horvath

My father proclaimed that Thanksgiving 1964 was going to be a real Thanksgiving. One that would go down in history and it sure did all right. It seems like it was just yesterday when my dad came home a few weeks before turkey day and announced that we would not be having turkey. He had ordered something extraordinary for this year's special day of thanks, a goose. My sister Lori, and I at the ripe old ages of 8 and 9, had never eaten goose before so we turned our noses up to the thought of such a delicacy. We knew the real reason we were being subjected to this torture. It was because my father hated turkey. He began telling us how this startling turn of events all came about. He had been at the local gin mill rubbing elbows with the area farmers and got this brainstorm when he heard one of the farmers had geese for sale. They were corn feed and fat just waiting for my father's holiday dinner table. All Lori and I could envision was Mother Goose in the oven. My mother on the other hand, being the family diplomat, guaranteed us we would be having a feast fit for the pilgrims. But I could see that she wasn't too happy about it when my dad brought the twenty-seven pound barely plucked gander home for her to finish dressing.

Early Thanksgiving morn she started making my father's fantasy come true. Mom was a wonderful cook but there were only so many miracles one woman can perform on a goose that can barely fit into the oven. I on the other hand I was obsessing over a loose tooth that was about to fall out. It hurt to eat so my dad offered to pull it out. Lori said she would be more than happy to oblige me but I just couldn't bring myself to let them play dentist on me. My mother silently struggled turning the monster goose in the oven every half hour or so to try and cook it thoroughly. To stop me from complaining about my front tooth she tied a string to it and fastened the string onto the knob of the kitchen door. She assured me it would be over before I knew what happened and that when I least expected it one of my loved ones would walk by and shut the door plucking out my tooth. I stood there for what seemed an eternity while Lori teased me. Every time she came near the door or me I wailed. My dad engrossed in the Bears vs. Green Bay Packers football game seemed to be able to tune out all the commotion. Our dogs, Heinzie and Twicey needed to go out and I needed a break from operation tooth fairy so I volunteered to take our father and son dachshunds out for a walk before the big banquet. The canines saw a couple of muskrats down by the creek and took off on their own adventure while I, afraid that the dogs would get hurt, came running into the house screaming. My dad was shouting at the football game. Lori came in the living room pinching her nose asking what stinks? My mother flew out of the kitchen screeching that the goose stunk like 5-day-old fish. The place was a mad house. My dad got another beer.

Through the years Mom, Dad, Lori and I would recall that Thanksgiving and we would laugh till we cried. Each one of us seemed to have a slightly different spin on the story but all and all it was still a total disaster. Together we all went through it and together we all survived, forging us closer together as a family. Our so-called dysfunctional family moment gave us the strength and a sense of humor that I think we all need in life. Life doesn't always follow along with our plans. "Roll with the punches," and "someday you will look back and laugh," both ring true for that is part of family life.

Oh, I forgot to mention that the goose had been fed cod liver oil to fatten him up and that the farmer had butchered him too soon. My tooth fell out sometime during my sleep and we all figured I must have swallowed it. The dogs finally showed up at the back door late that night with something special to add. A skunk had sprayed them both. Father was right. Thanksgiving 1964 did go down in history, our family history, and is now being passed down to the next generation. Periodically those pungent aromas embedded in our noses on that calamitous holiday entice Lori and I to go back and share with our children how our family celebrated Thanksgiving Day 1964.

By Dee Ann E. L. Horvath [email protected]
00-30-00
Lake Of Dreams
http://hometown.aol.com/ambereye3/
EWGPresents
http://www.ewgpresents.com/
Dee Ann Horvath
http://www.heartswithsoul.com/deeannhorvath.htm

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