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We sat down with the children at a small, rickety table for
Thanksgiving dinner.
"Mom, I'm 29. Why do I still have to sit at the kid's
table?" I asked my mother.
"There's no room at the adult table. Maybe next
year." Mom said.
"You say that every year." I said.
"I don't mind sitting at the kid's table. I have the
heart of a child. I keep it on a desk in my office." Eric said with a
wicked grin.
"Oh, Eric, that's awful!" My mother said.
"Don't mind him." I punched him on the arm.
"You only have an inner child because you have no outer adult."
"I can't take credit for the line. Stephen King said it
first." Eric said.
"When will we get to sit at the adult table? I don't
want to spend my Thanksgiving dinner wiping green bean casserole slobber from a
toddler." I complained.
"You won't. Stop arguing." Eric said. "Food's
coming."
The feast rivaled last year's meal. Crescent rolls fresh and
warm from the oven made their way to our table. I grabbed two and so did Eric.
Rather than send the basket of rolls back to the adult table, he put it in
front of him.
"Crescent rolls are cool. They stay here." He
said.
I shrugged it off and ignored him.
Succulent turkey made its way to our table. I took a thigh
and some breast meat and passed it on to Eric, who took a leg and some breast
meat.
"Eh, send the turkey back. Let the adults have
it." Eric said as he handed the platter of turkey over to one of my uncles
at the adult table.
The green bean casserole, candied sweet potatoes, and
sauerkraut made their way to our table. Eric and I dished out healthy samplings
of the beans and sweet potatoes but let the sauerkraut go. He looked at my
plate brimming with goodies and raised an eyebrow.
"You know you can't eat that much food. You're going to
be too stuffed for pumpkin pie." He said.
"I'm never too stuffed for pumpkin pie." I
replied.
"We'll see. You'll know I'm right. I'm always
right." He grinned and winked at me. "We keep the beans and sweet
potatoes. They're cool. The adults can keep the sauerkraut." He placed the
bowls of beans and potatoes in front of him with the crescent rolls and handed
the sauerkraut to my uncle.
Scalloped corn and regular potatoes made their way to our
table only to be handed off to my uncle. The same thing happened to the gravy. Eric
kept the cranberry sauce. I wondered when someone would notice there was a
bottleneck at the kid's table. It was my father who noticed.
"Where're the rolls and sweet potatoes?" He turned
to us. "Are you kids hoarding the good food again?"
"This is what you get for making us sit at the kid's
table." I said as I poked Eric with my elbow. He handed the food to my
uncle.
"We were holding it hostage until we got our way."
Eric said.
My mother appeared with two chairs. I had no idea she had left
the room. "Alright, you two. You get your wish. Come to the adult
table."
As we made our way to our new holiday tradition of sitting
with the grown-ups, a toddler cousin of mine appeared in the dining room
wearing only his sweater, socks, and sneakers. Otherwise, he was buck-naked. "Mom,
the toilet's clogged up." He said.
"Oh, God, no," My aunt Helen said as she shot up
out of her chair. "You didn't flush your underwear down the toilet again,
did you?"
My cousin gave her a wry smile.
As my father ran off to the bathroom to remedy this latest
disaster, Eric and I sat down to enjoy our turkey dinner amid my crazy family. If
it wasn't a clogged toilet or Eric holding the good food hostage, it would have
been a boring Thanksgiving. That's never the case with my family. At least
Roto-Rooter made a mint from us. It's the most plumberful time of year.