By Adam Smith

The North Jefferson News



Thanksgiving.

Just the word evokes certain memories for some folks. The word can also evoke feelings and aromas that you only experience once or twice a year.

This will be my 30th Thanksgiving, and I hope to see at least 40 or 50 more in my lifetime. However, when I think of Thanksgiving, it’s usually the memories from holidays of my youth that shaped my perception of what Thanksgiving is all about.

My earliest memories of Thanksgiving are probably the ones spent at my grandparents’ house in Childersburg.

Of course, it was always a large affair, complete with my grandparents on my mom’s side, my grandmother on my dad’s side and of course, my immediate family.

I’m sure like every year, there was turkey, dressing, cranberries, fruit salad and a wide array of vegetables.

However, what really sticks out in my mind is the sight of a cardboard and onion-paper turkey that adorned the dinner table.

Normally stored in a folding position, it always looked genteel and mild. However, when you unfolded the tacky table decor, it grew by twice its size, revealing an angry plume of multicolored feahters. I was scared to death of this angry, fake bird.

Even worse, I’m pretty sure certain members of my family may have chased me around with the bird flapping its flammable feathers, accompanied by some sort of squawking sound. However, I have tried to block those memories out.

The turkey used every Thanksgiving wasn’t unlike the one pictured inside this column. I’m sure most families have used something vaguely similar.

As I got a little older and realized the table decoration wasn’t going to kill me, I did observe the disposition on the face of the turkey, which was that of anger. I guess in hindsight, it seems cruel to decorate your table with a representative version of what you’re about to be eating. After all, you don’t see cow decorations on tables at steakhouses.

Another memory that stands out in my mind is the effort put forth by the cooking members of my family to make the food itself something special. My mom spends most of the day before Thanksgiving and the day itself cooking up a storm in the kitchen.

Her poorly ventilated workspace also acts as a virtual heater, raising the temperature of the house to a tropical 120 degrees, thereby cooking the kitchen and house, in addition to the feast itself.

There have been a few Thanksgivings at my folks’ house in which the air conditioner was turned on. Yes, the air conditioner turned on in late November.

Such an occurance usually prompts my father to yell to the upstairs from his recliner, “Whoturnedontheair?!?!”

My mom, looking wilted from the heat, then has to explain to my father that the dinner is cooking faster on the counter top than in the oven. That’s a slight exaggeration, but not far off.

Then there’s the sounds themselves. The sounds of: the opening and closing of kitchen cabinets a hundred times or more; the oven door being opened every 10 to 15 minutes, letting out another burst of ungodly heat; the clinking of silverware and glasses; things falling out of the refrigerator; my sister trying to instill law and order into my nephews; my dad snoring in the recliner and occasionally wake up long enough to yell at the football game; the trash being taken out three times within two hours; my grandmother’s “hello” when she first enters the house, followed immediately by her laughter at my nephews; and lastly, the happy groans of a satisfied family once the gut-stuffing has subsided.

Familes change over the course of the years. Family members pass away and new members are added over time. However, I think it’s sometimes easy to take holidays like Thanksgiving for granted. The food’s always great, sure, but having all of your family around you at one time is always a blessing and that’s what memories like mine are made of. And that’s something I’m truly thankful for.