The Blue Plate WAS Special!

          I was eighteen years old. It was 1965. November 25th to be exact. I was a freshman in college. And pretty grown up I'd say. At least the University thought so. They had put me in the hardest classes, thrown me in front of Bill Johnson and Paul Tessman at football practice and "allowed" me to help with my tuition by putting me to work in the dining hall. I was, by all accounts, adjusting just fine. 

           What I didn't have was enough time, or money, to make the 212 mile trip home for the two days they had given us for the Thanksgiving holiday.

      "You headed to Monteagle?"

           "Yes sir," I answered as I climbed into the old car. "I appreciate you stopping." It was only eight miles but I was relieved not to walk it.

           "You got family there?"

           "No sir, just thought I'd get something to eat. School is closed down for the rest of the week."

           "Thanksgiving is a time for family."

            I thanked the man and his wife for the ride and headed across the street to the Monteagle Diner. I was relieved to find it open, yet I lingered before entering. I had the dollar, eighty-nine for the lunch special. It just didn't feel exactly "right" to eat on this day without Pa's blessing. It was my first Thanksgiving away from home. The coldness and the rain pushed me inside.

           It was almost empty. The waitress nodded me to a booth in the back. "The blue plate special is turkey and dressing." She didn't even bother with a menu.

           I didn't notice when she set the tea down. I was "back home" reaching for the pulley bone. Leon and I would each grab an end of that v-shaped bone and pull like mad. He'd get the long end every year which, according to big brother rules, meant that I had to eat that stupid turkey neck! He and David Mark and half a dozen cousins would laugh and carry on like I'd lost World War III! 

           It was just noon. Not quite time for the family to sit down. Pa, Daddy and Uncle Clifford, Uncle F. D. and Uncle Womack would be in the living room. F. D. would be talking politics. Daddy and Clifford would throw in a comment from time to time. Womack wouldn't say a word. Pa would be giving a weather report.

           The aunts in the kitchen would be all talking at once, and laughing and carrying on about something Aunt May White said thirty years earlier. One, usually Mom or Adell, would report to the men that dinner "was almost ready." We ate "dinner" at noon like real folks are supposed to. Supper was served in the evening.

           The youngins would tire of the Macy Parade pretty quickly. Plus, you couldn't hear the t.v. for the laughter and banter anyway. Most of them would be on the floor or hiding in a closet or under a bed, inventing ways to kill time until they could eat. Leon had already snookered Pa into "lifting" him one of those fried apple pies. And, if you let them out of eyesight, David and Joe would be off somewhere fighting. 

           The waitress eased the plate down as if not to interfere with my thoughts. As I watched the smoke rise from the turkey and dressing I didn't feel so grown up. Maybe the tradition had become too ingrained... I had become so accustomed to family and food and warmth and hugs and love that I had taken it for granted.

           It was still a little early. Leon would give me a fit if I started ahead of everybody else! Thanksgiving and Christmas were the only two days mother used the big table in the dining room. Pa would sit at the head. The grown-ups would fill in the nearest chair around that titanic spread. The children ate in the kitchen on the little table. Or standing by the window. Or resting a plate on the washing machine. We made do..

           "Is there something wrong?" The waitress noted my hesitancy in attacking the special.

           "No ma'am, I'm o.k." I lied. "I'm just letting it cool."

           You can learn a lot about Thanksgiving in the back booth of the Monteagle Diner on a cold, rainy day in late November when you're all by yourself. Those 212 miles might as well have been ten thousand! I didn't need any lesson books, or wise sayings, or learned university professors. I was figuring this day out without any help from anyone!

           I bowed my head and listened. I wish I had paid more attention! I'd heard those words so many times.. Slowly, just like Pa delivered them, they came, "Father, be present with us at this hour; pardon us of our sins and help us to be humble and to realize the great need of thanking the Lord for providing a way in which we have food for the nourishment of our bodies.."

           I used to think these folks were plain and simple. That college education was helping me already! And in my heart I know Pa, and the others, hadn't forgotten me on this day.

           The silent tears didn't ruin my turkey and dressing; or my Thanksgiving. They were just a reminder of how incredibly fortunate I was. And I couldn't wait until the next time God would favor me to be amongst them... I'll show that whole group how to eat a turkey neck!

               Happy Thanksgiving,

                         Kes