Here's Some Thanksgiving Leftovers

I missed Mom and Dad this Thanksgiving. Dad has been gone for years now; Mom just a couple. And please understand, it wasn’t a lonely Thanksgiving! My sons were there. My grandchildren were there. Cathy’s immediate, fairly close, not so close and a few we-didn’t-know-at-all families showed up. In droves! I thought Gil Favor and Rowdy Yates were pushing a trail herd through by the time we sat down to eat.

You can turn aside for a moment…..even in a crowd. Dad liked to eat. Oh, he wouldn’t make a fuss or let on. He wasn’t going to make the rounds hugging, shaking hands or entertaining. But he enjoyed the family! He enjoyed the meal! He enjoyed the fellowship! He would never say so….but I think he was giving thanks more than any of us ever realized.

He sure understood the season.

Mom would be everywhere. She’d wipe her hands on that apron a thousand times in between peeping in the oven and checking the three pots she had going on the top of the stove. She’d be seeing to everyone. Did they want some tea while they waited? Were Leon’s girls alright upstairs by themselves? Do we want to try to eat before the ballgame? Do we have enough seats? Someone is going to have to eat in the kitchen…..

She would be the last to sit down. She would be the last to serve her plate. She made sure the cranberry sauce was close to her middle son. Her head would lift slightly as someone took a first bite of potato salad, searching for the approval smile. Her eyes darted from plate to plate; she wanted to be ready if someone needed a refill. I look back now and wonder if Mom wasn’t so busy maybe she missed a little of the thanksgiving. I put that thought aside quickly. Mom was having a blast. She was in her element. The giving was her way of showing thanks!

I never imagined life without either of them.

They came from such humble beginnings. Dad grew up across Shannon Creek on a hillside farm. Mom lived on the other side of the little Mt. Zion School, just up the road off of Sugar Creek. I’ve never heard the full story of how they met down where the creeks forked. I know Dad took to rabbit hunting up close to the Kennedy farm.

They married in December of 1934. I don’t know much about the proposal, wedding day or their early years. Life, as they lived it, wasn’t about them. It was about us. And it was about family. They each had six brother and sisters that reached adulthood. Believe me, Mom and Dad knew something about large Thanksgiving get-togethers!

Mom was fourteen when they married. I have rolled that over time and time again in my mind. I know it was a different era. In so many ways, a completely different world…..but still, fourteen! Daddy dropped out of school after the third grade. His father needed him on the farm more than they did down at the little one room school at Mt. Zion. A child bride and an elementary school drop-out. What would you figure the odds of them making it?

I wondered about how they spent their first Thanksgiving as husband and wife. I wondered if they pondered on the future. Did they go to the movies? When did they start planning on Leon, me and David? I should have asked more questions when I had the chance. I should have paid more attention to the little glances and the unspoken moments between them.

I never, ever heard either of them bemoan the hardships of farm living in the heights of the Great Depression. I never heard either of them complain about their lot in life, a break that might not have gone their way or how they came to be at the end of Stonewall Street with three fairly demanding children. They didn’t belittle anyone or waste time on that “life is unfair” speech. What I did hear from them was laughter, encouragement and a kind word just when the world was sticking a foot on my neck. Oh yeah, you let me step over one of their clearly defined lines of decency and good decorum and they would whip my little backside quicker than you could say Father O’Leary is not a Baptist!

They could take that child rearing theme to extremes sometimes! They wanted to know how things were going at school. They asked questions about what we were learning. They made sure our friends stopped by for a sandwich or a bite of chocolate pie. It seemed innocent and polite enough, but I look back now and realize it also gave them insight into who we were hanging around with. They’d follow you out the back door and embarrass the dickens out of you by yelling “Be careful” as you were getting in the car with Ricky Gene or Ann Carol. 

They didn’t just raise us, they were involved in every blooming detail of our lives! They led by word, action and example. And let me tell you, they could do some almighty pushing if the situation demanded it! They invested everything they had in us. I’ll be reaping the dividends until the day I die.

I looked across the table at my two sons. How proud Mom and Dad would have been of them. I soaked in the noise from five bouncing grandchildren. I hate they didn’t get to share a banana sandwich with my Father. These precious young souls never saw Mom at her best. But I know without a doubt the legacy of my parents, the faithful precepts of my upbringing, the care and love of family…….courses deep in their veins.

Not bad for a child bride and a third grade drop-out!            

Thankfully,

Kes