On Thanksgiving, learn a little family history, but keep an eye out for a frozen turkey attack

Stay Safe

because getting up at 1 a.m. to watch a street fight over a 60inch television doesn’t do it for me. I do, however, enjoy the videos of shoppers, probably nice folks under normal circumstances, breaking through the aisles as if it were third and goal.

Well, here we are in November and just days away from Thanksgiving, the opening act for the Christmas Holidays. It is here where we focus on the mindset of food and contact sports including football and Black Friday. I’ve never experienced Black Friday

When I joined the police department, holidays were saved for veteran officers, so my first few Thanksgivings were a joyous time of breaking up domestic fights between family members who came together to celebrate the holiday. The police report often read, “Subject arrested for aggravated assault. Weapon type, Butterball Turkey, frozen.”

Once married, like most newly married men, I inherited an additional Thanksgiving Dinner. This meant if I didn’t pace myself at the table, I would pay dearly. To gorge at the first meal, then only pick at the second, meant offending the second family, bad mojo for marital bliss, so I had no choice but to take the hit, eat well, then remain motionless for two hours listening to my arteries harden.

Later in life, when I had kids, after dinner, we retreated to the front yard for the annual touch-football game. By touchfootball, I meant tackling and then fighting. My brother and I, always the athletes, ran a half a dozen pass routes, and then called time out in order to throw up. Good times.

My older relatives sat inside discussing their ailments as if it were a contest, sounding like the complete history of WebMD. My father looked forward to this time to tell my kids all the things I did that I didn’t want them to know. A father’s revenge, I suppose.

We decided that when we gathered for Thanksgiving, we agreed to enjoy the holiday without any form of political discussion, so, immediately after dinner, my father and brotherin-law would retire to the den to rant how Reaganomics ruined the country as if they were suspended in time for almost 40 years.

My father was a loyal party Democrat who campaigned for John F. Kennedy, earning him an continued on page 16 continued from page 15 invitation to the inauguration ceremony. He considered that a great honor, but after a few holiday beverages, he admitted that perhaps it would have been an even greater honor to attend one of Kennedy’s trysts with Marilyn Monroe at Sinatra’s house. Although my brother and I rarely agreed with him politically, on that point, we all high-fived.

Now I have grandchildren who are ripe for stories about their fathers and sons who stare at me in anticipation of same, but I won’t show my cards this early, reserving this rite of passage because I expect to have more grandchildren.

My father has passed on, but my mother, in her 90’s, is still going strong. Now, after dinner, we sit and watch her greatgrandchildren play football in the yard. She smiles and talks to them, individually telling them they’re her favorite, then leans over to me, laughs and says,

“Who the hell is that?” Selfdeprecating humor runs in the family.

So, you see, Thanksgiving is dynamic, with endless elements coming together to form the memories of celebrating whatever it is you celebrate: food, football, contact-shopping, or arguing.

I know we’re supposed to acknowledge the first Thanksgiving, when the Pilgrims introduced the Native Americans to large hats, but let’s face it, we should celebrate what is important to us individually as a family. Still, watch out for the weird distant cousin who brings the frozen Butterball Turkey.