Warning: if you are inclined towards being a vegetarian you might want to skip reading this article. Of course, if you do, you’ll miss my grandmother’s classic Thanksgiving story.
When I was growing up our family spent most every Thanksgiving with my dad’s parents. Because they lived just a few miles from us, we either went to their house or they came to ours. And nearly every Thanksgiving, since I was old enough to hear such a story, my grandma would tell of one particular Thanksgiving from her childhood.
My grandma grew up on a farm in Missouri. Now that I think of it, I’m not exactly sure it was a farm, but I do know that her family raised turkeys. As you’d expect back in the early 1900’s, these birds were not pets, but family food. (Come to think of it, I’ve never heard of someone having a pet turkey, but nothing is out of the realm of possiblity, I suppose.) The problem started, I think, when my grandmother named the turkeys. Thanksgiving rolled around and my great grandmother spent the day preparing the meal. I would venture to guess that a big Thanksgiving meal in those days, while probably much simpler than what we have, was still a major undertaking.
What came next probably sent my grandmother to her room for a week. With the bird fully dressed and sitting beautifully browned in the middle of the table, the family bowed their heads to give thanks for their meal. As soon as grace was over my grandmother breathed a huge sigh and said, “Well, we’re having Daisy for dinner tonight.” As my grandmother tells the story, no one ate that night.
My grandma died over 20 years ago but this story still cracks me up. Oh how I’d love to hear it from her again. So do me a favor this Thanksgiving; if you are fortunate enough to still have a grandma that tells you her favorite stories time and again, please listen and give your grandma a hug. You might even want to write her stories down so you can repeat them to your kids one day – over and over again.