A power outage can seem like the apocalypse for many, especially when it’s in the low 20s with winds up to 30 mph. So, there we were, my sister, my parents, and myself, all home for Thanksgiving, warm fire, and food. We were all bundled warm with candles displayed on the coffee table.
My mother, ecstatic that all four of us were in the same room at all, decided to crack open a game of best and worst holidays. My sister and I assumed these memories were to revolve around the last twenty years of our mutual existence. Silly us.
My mother, God bless her soul, with the excitement of the game, immediately blurted out with, “I was seven and I got a Kodak camera. I thought Santa was a genius!”
My sister was the first to pipe in, “Really mom? Your best Christmas was when you were…seven? What about us?”
We all awkwardly laughed as she tried to mend this error, “Uhh, well that one time when we were on that island on Australia. Yeah. That was a good one too!”
Damage done, mom.
My father piped in, and as it appeared all Christmases were now fair game, he chose the first Christmas he had away from his family, when it was just he and my mom.
“Oh! When I woke up at 3am and unwrapped my ski boots?” my mother offered.
“Yup,” he responded slowly, rocking his head.
My sister and I both nominated the best Christmas being when Santa dropped a cardboard box at our front door with a little mutt puppy we dubbed Bailey, after George Bailey from It’s a Wonderful Life.
Then Thanksgiving talk came up. There really wasn’t a best or worst nomination, just more of a “Do you really like turkey or not?” My dad voted “yes”, I “no”, as did my mom, and my sister voted more precisely with “only the drumstick.”
This then led to the first Thanksgiving we had back in the states after living in Australia. I could not stop talking about the drumstick I was fixing to eat. I think it was because I associated drumsticks with the delicious, processed KFC drumsticks my parents once let us chow down on before seeing The Lion King in the theater. So, this drumstick that I was raving about finally found its way into my little hands, one bite, and BOOM, I was out like a light, still propped up at the table. There’s a picture floating aimlessly in our albums with me, bottom lip pouted, drumstick in hand, and fast asleep yet somehow determined.
The lights flickered, my mom sounded with “Oooop!”, and alas, the power returned. The Blackberry thumbs came out, and my mom switched into panic mode that we might have been missing Glee – yet it was a Monday, at 7pm. Silly mom, Glee is for Tuesdays.