Storytelling Sunday---Thanksgivings Past

We were living in Charleston, WV on Thanksgiving, 1977---our first one away from home and without extended family. Sandy was 5 and Stephanie was a year old. I made a turkey dinner with all the trimmings. We got "dressed up" for dinner and 20 minutes later it was all over but the mess. I then called home to St. Louis and realized all the fun the family was having without us. That was it. We never had another Thanksgiving alone.

Thus started the Eads' family tradition. Walter, Chris and girls came every year---wherever we lived---to celebrate with us. Chris made the dressing and Butch made the pies for several years. Often times, Walter and Butch did the clean-up after dinner before watching their football games.

We always enjoyed our time together with the girls---many games, great food and fun shopping. Chris and I would go when the stores opened, but that would be 7 a.m. I doubt we would have done midnight or 3 a.m. like they do now-a-days.
Thanksgiving was really warm again this year, reminding me of all the years that the Eads' came wearing their new fall sweaters only to sweat "bullets" down here in the south. Each year Chris would say, we need to remember that it's still hot in Nashville in November.

There is one Thanksgiving that really stands out in my memory. It's the one where I almost committed child abuse. If I was ever going to do it, it would have been in 1979.

I had just finished with all the house cleaning and Thanksgiving prep---working all day to make everything perfect. It was about 10 p.m. on Wednesday and the Eads' #1 family was due to arrive about 11 p.m. I was completely exhausted, but just sitting at the kitchen table going over my list for the next day. About that time, Sandy (who was 7 at the time) went in to the refrigerator for milk. She was behind me when she dropped the entire gallon. Not only did I feel that cold rush of milk up my legs and back, it "splatted" straight up and out---EVERYWHERE---dripping down the wallpaper, all over the counter, chandelier, stove---just everywhere. I started yelling---"you better run---I'm going to beat you!" Being no dummy, she took off as I continued to rant and rave. You also need to know that this was back in the days where you had to wax your floors on your hands and knees---which I'd done earlier in the day. OMG! I completely lost it. Butch came running in to see what had happened. He figured it out pretty quick. Later, I felt bad for Sandy---she was such a good kid and it was an accident, but I was just so tired.

I brought it up to Sandy while visiting last week and luckily, she doesn't even remember it. I guess the time I nearly committed child abuse didn't leave any permanent scars.

Family, time together, good food and fun---that's what Thanksgiving is all about. I'm glad that's what my gang remembers.