A Modern Meal

I feel sorry for my father. His favorite holiday is here, yet he hardly recognizes it. Thanksgiving has always been Dad’s annual opportunity to enjoy a feast while surrounded by a loving family. However, for him, this tradition has changed in too many ways. Children and grandchildren will still arrive early this morning with hugs and kisses and the head of the house will still enjoy himself in many ways. But in the back of his mind he will know. Dad will recognize that the past is slipping away and the future brings with it uncertainty and fear.

“Tofu turkey!” he’ll yell when I arrive with my covered dish. “Are you out of your mind?”

Dad’s concern is understandable. He may yell, but really he's just wondering, “Where did I go wrong?” The man has had a life-long relationship with dead animals and is now surrounded by fanatics who are trying to change all that. My mom will still serve his stuffed bird, but he can’t help feeling depressed when the rest of us turn away and request a moment of silence. To him, vegetarians are as bad as liberals. And now he’s related to several of both.

“Cheer up, dad,” my sister tells him. “This means more meat for you.”

He’ll try to smile and focus on the positive. There is something funny about a boiling turkey neck forcing everyone in the house to breathe through their mouths. However, my father's smile will fade while watching children prepare a meal that is foreign to him. He always hopes for the familiar. Instead, a man who would never set foot in a health-food store will have to accept some healthy yet hard choices. There’s no talking to him about certain things. He’ll ignore assurances that mashed potatoes don’t have to include milk. He’ll shrug off organic apple pie and warnings that traditional deserts will kill him. We all must get used to the grumpiness. Even my children learn to think happy thoughts when Grandpa holds one of them hostage for old-fashioned gravy.

“And would it kill anyone in this family to buy butter?”

He won’t even get that old standby – cranberry sauce shaped like the can. One of his crazy kids will serve fresh cranberries and he’s supposed to act appropriate? I feel for him. I really do.

At the end of the meal, my father will swear he's still hungry and sadly make his way to the television for beer and bonding. Dad will convince himself this last tradition still stands - women waiting on men watching football. When my brother passes out bottled water and grandchildren successfully pressure him into watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving - on DVD of course - he will sigh the sigh of a defeated man.

The rest of us, male and female alike, will gather in the kitchen to clean up the feast. One of us will try to convince him that drying dishes can be fun, but Dad won't listen. He’ll just sit quietly and think up ways to avoid all of us until January.