Sunday, November 21, 2010


With the Thanksgiving holiday coming up, I can't help but think this might be my last Thanksgiving at home with my family. Next year I'll be at college and depending on where I end up deciding to go, I might not be home next year at this time. With my family, Thanksgiving starts at my aunt’s house around dinner time. My aunt's family makes the turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing; and everyone else brings another side dish, dessert, or drink. My mom usually makes sweet potato casserole and some sort of dessert; she usually comes up with a new one every year. We sit around and talk, while we wait for everyone to get there. This can take some time because my mom is one of seven kids; all of which come with their family, so my Thanksgiving is spent with my 50 or so relatives. Once the house is packed full, we all stand around the kitchen and hold hands and my aunt gives a blessing. Next comes the best part, we get to start eating. My cousin's and I are always first in line. Then we all sit down and eat. Even though most of my cousins are around the age of 20 now; we still sit at the "kiddy table", this tiny pop-up table that we all hardly fit around. So while we are all bumping elbows, we engulf our food and move right on to dessert. Once all the adults are done eating the games begin. My uncles and some of my older male cousins sit around the "kiddy table" which they move into the living room, and play poker while they watch football. The rest of us always play Scattergories. Now, my family’s very competitive and this game usually turns bad once someone starts making up words or trying to find loop-holes in the rules. My one older cousin, if not in the lead, will start challenging words and arguing about if the word fits under the category or not. After we get sick of playing games, we just all sit in the living room talking and reminiscing. The same stories are always told and I can almost recite them from memory. My one uncle is always the butt of everyone's jokes, but he brought it upon himself. I mean, who rips off their shirt to kill a gardener snake with a baseball bat? After all the stories have been told and the laughs have been had, everyone packs up their leftovers and we go home. My big Italian family rarely leaves that many leftovers but they always leave many memories.

No comments:

Post a Comment