Thanksgivings Past

The next three days I thought I would explore Thanksgiving from the past, the future, and the present.

Today…Thanksgivings past.

I was trying to recall my earliest memories of Thanksgiving. I had trouble. Every recollection seemed pretty much the same…wonderful.

Mom, Dad, and the nine of us kids crowded together in the house. The older boys and the oldest sister would swill beer, and smoke cigarettes, as we watched football.

Mom would cook. Dad would try to find a quiet place to hide, and the youngest sister would be writing yet another love letter to her Medical Center dreamboat, Chad Everett.

For the most part, I simply remember the fantastic smells, all of us playing football in the backyard at halftime, and most of all, the laughter.

One thing we were never short of in our tightly packed house was laughter. In fact, an odd, but ultimately humorous tradition began one Thanksgiving.

The origins of why it was started and by whom have become a hostage of time and the fading memories among the clan.

My Mom, St. Mary Anne, had a huge picture of Pope Paul VI in the living room. One year, one of the kids drew a mustache on him. It was in magic marker over the glass.

When Mom saw it, the heavens shook, she yelled, and took on the form of Gabriel while threatening to punish the culprit with smacks on the butt from her feared bolo paddle.

Fortunately, for us all, Divine Intervention in the form of a kitchen timer sounding, saved our souls, and our asses.

Every Thanksgiving thereafter, even into adulthood, somebody would draw a mustache on Pope Paul, and in all of our juvenile glory we would laugh…Mom, most of all.

I do have one other Turkey Day memory that I may have briefly mentioned a long time ago. I was 16 or 17 and dating Sherri a sweet young girl.

After Thanksgiving dinner, we went to a party that an older brother’s friend was having. It was bitterly cold for November.

After a few underage drinks, our teenage hormones kicked in and we needed to act upon our cornucopia of dirty thoughts.

Well, my friend and I headed out into the 20 degree night and started making out in front the house, near the street.

Within a matter of lustful minutes we were lying butt naked on the sidewalk, “giving thanks” to each other, and performing our version of “Pilgrims Gone Wild”.

The sex was good, well, as it good as it can be for teenagers. But, I did learn one very important thing that night.

Sex in 20 degree weather may make a chick’s nipples rock hard, but it does little to encourage the growth of a guy’s cock.

And man, my little wank needs all the encouragement it can get. For learning that fact so early in life, I am truly thankful.

A couple of things before I go…First of all, Karen? You are evil. Because of your comment to me yesterday, I now have to make dressing and gravy as well for T-Day dinner.

I hope you realize that you just added 15 minutes 2 hours to my work on Thursday.

And lastly, a Inky and Lola-esque cartoon from last Thanksgiving season. It is proof positive of my mad, artistic skillz…

Cheers!!