Thanksgiving Dinner

by Beth Alexander Walsh

Over twenty-five years ago, after our mother sold our childhood home, I hosted my first Thanksgiving dinner.   My mother had entrusted me the family china and her stuffing recipe along with explicit instructions on how to properly cook the turkey. My two daughters, both toddlers at the time, helped me make napkin holders out of toilet paper rolls and popcorn kernels, along with turkey centerpieces of Styrofoam and colored feathers. The house was dusted, vacuumed and toys banished to their chest. A new table cloth was purchased for the table adjacent to the kitchen and an old one was borrowed for the folding table and chairs set up in the living room. Both tables were set and ready for candles to be lit and water and wine to be poured. All I needed were the guests.

Cocktails and appetizers went swimmingly! There are six Alexander children and when we get together with our extended families, we are a boisterous lot. The turkey was cooked to perfection and my husband carved enough for two platters to go on each table along with all the fixings. I then uttered the words that would forever dictate every Thanksgiving forward.

“Everyone can sit wherever they want.”

The men (or should I say boys) all made a beeline for the table in the living room that had a great view of the thirty-inch console TV. They proceeded to remove the centerpieces and candles, to have an unobstructed view, and turned on the TV to whatever football game happened to be playing. Every Thanksgiving onward became a battle of the sexes.

The following year, the same thing happened. The boys ran to the living room, but I had the foresight to hide the remote.  The food I slaved over for days was not going to compete with football.

The year after that we just set the table to accommodate the boys in the other room. We girls were starting to realize the benefits of a “women only” table. It was also the year my son was born, and given that he was a baby, I sat him in his usual spot in his high chair next to me. My husband immediately picked him up, highchair and all and moved him to sit with the men. Our son was destined to male only Thanksgiving dinner for the foreseeable future.

And so, it continued. The girls enjoyed the fine china, fancy silverware and crystal glasses set on a festive table cloth. Grace would be recited before the meal and we would each state what we were thankful for that year. Classical music or Christmas carols would be lightly playing in the background. We were the evolved table. The boys saw no benefit in saying grace or doting on thankfulness. The task at hand was to tackle the food piled high on their mismatched plates. The banter yelled back and forth was to say the least, entertaining.

This year our tradition will be different as our guest list has dwindled. My brother and his extended family will be spending Thanksgiving at Children’s Hospital where his 5 year- old granddaughter is receiving in-patient care for Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. She has requested her “Paw’s” ham and knowing the many aunts, uncles and grandparents that support this family there will be an amazing feast to be shared with all at the hospital. Those celebrating in my home will unite at one table and take a moment to send love and healing thoughts to those gathering in Boston and give thanks for all we have and each other.