Looks that Kill

Another repeat post. For those just joining us.

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 still arrive early with hugs and kisses and the head of the house enjoys himself in many ways. But in the back of his mind he knows. Dad recognizes that the past is slipping away and the future brings with it uncertainty and fear.

"Tofu turkey!" he shouts 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 still serves 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 tries 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 fades 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 inside a health-food store will have to accept some healthy yet hard choices. There’s no talking to him about certain things. He ignores assurances that mashed potatoes don’t have to include milk. He shrugs 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.

"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 serves fresh cranberries and he’s supposed to act appropriate? I feel for him. I really do.

At the end of the meal, my father swears he's starving and sadly makes 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, he sighs the sigh of a defeated man.

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