Thanksgiving

My earliest memory of Thanksgiving is a bit skewed.

We're a family that grew into certain traditions and always in strange ways. For Christmas, my mom use to wrap the presents a week or so in advance and put everything under the tree. As a young kid, you can see how difficult the challenge was in not opening those 'surprises' under the tree. Once my sister and I got really good at figuring out what was a toy and what was clothes, we had also a method of pulling open the wrapping paper by the tape and then sealing it back up with out any wrinkles in the wrapping. Then the trick was acting surprised when we got to open our presents Christmas Eve. I think my mom secretly knew.

Thanksgiving in my memories began when I was 4. My aunt had a two bedroom apt on Commonwealth Ave. in Boston at the time. The whole family came as well as a few guest. I remember watching the parade on TV and wondering what the hell was a Turkey.

You have to understand that turkeys are not native to Vietnam. We look at them in awe at the supermarkets and think to ourselves, "American birds must drink a lot of milk." That was also the explanation of why I grew so big. "D. drank a lot of milk!" (native Vietnamese people staring with mouths open and fingers pointing). Chickens in Vietnam are so small they can fit onto a large skewer, BBQ-ed and carried around to be eaten like a corn dog.

I don't think we even made turkey until I was about seven. That was also the age where they make you trace your hand on a brown piece of paper, cut it up, paint eyes and a beak and call it a turkey, and then Mrs. Baldwin would ask you, "so D., what are you having for Thanksgiving?" and when you respond, "well, I can't wait for my mom's eggs rolls and my dad's fried rice, and my aunt is making her chicken feet!!..etc, etc, " Mrs. Brown and the other Caucasians kinda look at you funny. I must of went home that day and asked my mom, "Hey, can we try making a turkey this Thanksgiving?" "A what?" "You know, one of those American birds that drank a lot of milk." "Sure, D," my mom says, looking slightly puzzled and apprehensive at the thought of cooking a monster chicken.

That first Thanksgiving in my aunt's apartment bears little resemblance to the feast we have today. I remember we had a curry dish. There was a fight with the toaster with a piece of french bread. The toaster won by lighting the bread on fire and then my uncle won by throwing the whole toaster in the sink. We may have watched football. I remember my family was big into Wrestle Mania then. And so was I. I'd pretend to be Hulk Hogan, my cousin T. would be the Ultimate warrior, and V. was always one of the Bushwhackers (which was always strange because they always made sense as two people, but seemed very weird as individuals). Somewhere in the mess of burning toasters, 4 year old kids doing pile drivers on each other, beer guzzling mom and dads, we found the spirit of Thanksgiving. We were together as a family, all in good health and all sharing some food, very thankful.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING