Thanksgiving is coming, and that reminds me of a story.
Back when I was in college, it didn't make fiscal sense for me to fly from Tampa to St. Louis, eat a meal, watch some football and fly right back, so we skipped it (and by that I mean, they still had it but I didn't go), which meant that I was on my own for Thanksgiving.
Fortunately, my friend T-Bone (an alias is necessary here?trust me) had grandparents in Sarasota just an hour or so from Tampa. They were awesome people but this story ain't about them. I'll probably write some stories about them later but this one happens to be about T-Bone's uncle and his wife.
However, I will say this, when I first met T-Bone's grandfather, I was an eighteen year-old college kid with hair down to the middle of my back, I reeked like pot and I tended to stare up at the sky way too long for the comfort of the majority of the people around me. None of this bothered T-Bone's granddad (or anyone else in his family for that matter).
When seventy-five year-old Grandpa Al (an alias is not necessary here) met my crazy ass, the first words out of his mouth were, “Nate, you're gonna like staying at my house. There's no bullshit.”
He was right.
But enough about Al. I'll babble on forever about that dude. Where the hell was I?
Oh yeah, this became an annual Thanksgiving trip and even happened a couple of times without T-Bone (who worked holidays after college). Good times were always had by all and laughter ran crazy through the house like a drunk midget on a murderous rampage. It was that affectatious kind of laughter. You know, the real good stuff.
One year, I brought my then girlfriend, who was from Germany. There was a miscommunication about her though, namely that they all thought I spoke German and she didn't speak English. Fair enough mistake, I guess. I mean, I could pass for German. I'm not though.
After Then Girlfriend confirmed that she did in fact speak English, she got to spend the majority of dinner asking questions about her home country, which always made for interesting conversations for everyone but her, but you know, the good of the many and all that.
At one point during this conversation, T-Bone's Aunt Ann asked Then Girlfriend if they had Thanksgiving in Germany. Before Then Girlfriend could utter a word, Ann's husband yelled, “Have you gotten stupider since I married you?”
“Jesus Christ,” he yelled, loud enough that the neighbor kids stopped playing soccer in his back yard and listened in. “Pilgrims! Turkey! Football! It's an American holiday for the love of God. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Normally, T-Bone's Uncle never spoke to his wife like this (seriously, this dude is very respectful when not arguing about the New York Giants) and so I guess, because she wasn't used to hearing this kind of talk from him, Aunt Ann apologized and said that might have been the stupidest thing she ever said as an adult.
“Might have been?” asked T-Bone's Uncle. “I'm embarrassed for both of us, honey.”
I mean, that's classic.
But here's the good part: I'm going back this Thanksgiving.
I stopped going after a couple of times without T-Bone because it didn't feel right. Everyone was accepting and helpful and fun and the food was always top notch, but I still felt kind of like I didn't belong. Like no one there actually knew me.
But T-Bone's got Thanksgiving off this year. And he invited me to go. And I can't fucking wait because I've been thinking about nothing but food for six weeks now.
Oh, and also, I could use a good laugh.