Yum, Thanksgiving — buttery rolls, mouthwatering pies, comforting mashed potatoes, rich, warm gravy, delicious stuffing, and golden crispy turkey, or lentil loaf if you’re a vegetarian. It isn’t all about the feast, though. Thanksgiving is also a time to celebrate gratitude, which could include thankfulness for family, friends, and good fortune, or simply that we successfully remembered why we walked into a certain room.
For some people, though, Turkey Day makes them wish there was a Thanksgiving support group in their area. Concerns run the gamut, from worrying that Uncle Frank will drink too much and start dancing with the inflatable gyrating turkey on the front lawn to fretting over whether they should invite new-to-town Beth from book club, who is a close talker and smells a bit like mothballs.
I don’t have any compelling or stressful memories of Thanksgiving. The best I can offer is a tale from my childhood. I was about 12 years old, and my family had recently moved to a new town. It was about a week before Thanksgiving, and for some reason my mom took me to a bingo game. I don’t remember a lot of details, but I do remember the fuzzy-haired trolls, rabbit’s feet, and plastic four-leaf clovers some of the hardcore players had set out for good luck.
Though I had no fuzzy-haired trolls, I somehow won. Excited and mortified, I walked up to collect my prize. It was a frozen turkey. Though I would have preferred cash, or a shiny new 45 record of “She’s Gone” by Hall and Oates, I had to acknowledge how perfect the timing was. “Now we have a turkey for Thanksgiving,” Mom happily said, sliding the frozen turkey under her chair.
Reliving my epic frozen-turkey win made me curious about other people’s Thanksgiving memories, and when I started asking around, the floodgates opened.
One woman told me about the Thanksgiving her grandmother brought “gunshot victim Luis” to their family table. Her grandmother was in rehab at a senior facility due to a fall, and while there, she met a young man who was in for a gunshot wound to his back. Though Luis was grateful to be invited, he wasn’t the kind of guest this woman had in mind for the Martha Stewart–inspired holiday dinner she so deeply craved.
“He was in a wheelchair, wore gold chains, was loud, and complained that the mashed potatoes were gluey,” she said. “But Grandma loved him. He was her Spanish-speaking friend at rehab, and she was gonna make damn sure he had a place to go. That was my grandmother, though. A tough Puerto Rican lady who raised nine kids through some very hard times, and still found ways to share her tiniest riches in seemingly infinite ways.”
Another woman shared a painful Thanksgiving memory that had taken place at her brother’s house. “My sister-in-law is very different from my family,” she said. “We’re loud, she’s quiet. We’re Northeast cornfield folks, she’s a sunny Florida native.”
Since her brother and his wife decided to host Thanksgiving, her father — a trained butcher — insisted on cooking the turkey. “Have you ever wondered how far a turkey baster can squirt hot grease?” she asked. “Pretty far. The physics probably equate to one in a billion, and yet somehow the piping-hot turkey juice landed square in the eye of the one person my dad wanted to impress — my sister-in-law. The turkey was cold when we returned home from the emergency room, and few words were spoken as we ate pumpkin pie.”
And another woman shared that the first time she’d hosted Thanksgiving, she’d left the giblets bag inside the turkey and cooked it. “Everyone told me in advance about the whole bag thing and to be sure to remove it,” she said. “Which I did. But nobody told me there were TWO bags, one in each end. Who does that? Why would you need two different but equally revolting bags in two different orifices?”
Though humans love to try to control everything, these stories remind us that it’s impossible. Hot grease travels, gizzard bags are forgotten, and there are many Uncle Franks walking among us. So here are some tips for hosting a relatively safe Thanksgiving:
- Don’t name your turkey. It’ll just make it harder to cook it.
- If you wear press-on nails, make sure the adhesive is completely dry before using your hand mixer.
- Make sure your stove is set to cook, not clean — especially if it self-locks — to avoid a cremated turkey.
- Don’t play toss with a frozen turkey. They’re slippery, and though a 24-pound turkey flying through the air has less mass than a flying bowling ball, it may have a higher velocity.
- Keep track of your alcohol consumption. It’s easy to mistake a napkin for mashed potatoes when you’ve had four Kamkazes and three glasses of wine.
Lastly, find joy and humor where you can; be kind; focus on what you’re grateful for; if you’re able to, volunteer and donate; tell people you love them; and invite Beth from book club. She doesn’t have any family nearby, and you can always light incense to cancel out the smell of mothballs.