A Very Special Thanksgiving 🦃

There are some disagreements as to exactly what and when things happened, but you, a loyal reader are very, VERY well aware of the truthfulness and accuracy of the stories and events recorded and shared.

This week is an exciting time for my family and I’m sure it is for your family as well. This is the time we all come together to visit loved ones or loved ones come to visit us. This is the time we all come together to celebrate Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is an especially memorable time for me and Wife because it is the first time we became parents. There was one particular Thanksgiving that will always have a special place in our hearts. There are some disagreements as to exactly what and when things happened, but you, a loyal reader, are very, VERY well aware of the truthfulness and accuracy of the stories and events recorded and shared. Because of this, you know of the historical accuracy of the tale I am about to impart.

It was a quiet Thursday morning for me and Wife. We were planning to go to my brother’s house that day. The DVR was set up to record a football game. Wife and I were seated in the living room sipping our coffees. My coffee had a little something tasty in it. A little Amaretto or Bailey’s for flavor on this leisurely morning where no one needed to go to work and it would be hours before we would need to be at my brother’s.

There was one particular Thanksgiving that will always have a special place in our hearts.

The time finally came to hit the road. We drove to my brother and his wife’s house. There we saw relatives and loved ones. We chatted and enjoyed hors d’oeuvres. Some rooms had people sitting around talking. One room had the television on where people were getting ready to watch the football game. Wife and I made our rounds and said hello to our hosts and their various guests. Everyone knew Wife was pregnant and, if they didn’t, I think they figured it out when they saw her. Wife found a seat and rested herself. People made their way to where she was sitting and wished her a Happy Thanksgiving. Everyone wanted to know how she was doing. Would she like anything? Could they get anything for her?

People continued to talk. I divided my time and attention between the game and conversation. Then, not long after we began talking, we were called into the dining room. It was a beautiful room, elegantly decorated. The table was beautifully set with various side dishes: stuffing, vegetables, cranberry sauce, a variety of potato dishes. In one area of the table was a large bare spot. Very large.

Everything was in place. Everyone was in place. We were all ready to eat. But first, we had to give thanks for the bounty we were about to receive. After all, it was Thanksgiving.

After giving thanks, we passed sides to and fro. The turkey was carved. Wife and I passed sides to those next to us and around us. People passed sides to us. I was fortunate enough to get a drumstick, my favorite part of the turkey.

My plate was made. I was ready to go. I’ll never forget that drumstick. It was next to the mashed potatoes, which had gravy on it. The gravy was running down the potatoes and ran towards the drumstick. The tip of the drumstick had a little gravy on it. Just a little. Just enough to add a little more flavor.

I took the drumstick in my hands and brought it to my mouth. I was about to take a bite of the crispy drumstick with just a little gravy on it. I could smell the delicious aroma of the bird. I was about to take a bite when I felt something on my arm. It was Wife tapping me and saying, “I think we need to go to the hospital.”

And so we did. We said goodbye to our hosts and our fellow guests and we drove to the hospital, where we later said hello to our first child. This is the true, irrefutable story of how Wife and I first became parents. It happened on Thanksgiving. It was an exciting time, and it all happened just as you read it.

This week is an exciting time for my family,

and I’m sure it is for your family.

… and we were thankful.
Continue reading “A Very Special Thanksgiving 🦃”

Men at Work

We had a small problem in the backyard recently. The ladder to the swing set broke. It wasn’t too bad. It was just certain rungs and just one side that needed to be fixed.

This is to be expected. We’ve had the set for years and our yard was the yard that everyone congregated at before Coronapalooza hit us. Countless children have played in our yard and made up numerous games in and around the swing set.

The trouble was brought to my attention one day. I stopped what I was doing to survey the damage and figure out what could be done. A brilliant flash then hit me. I looked at The Boy, who has told all who will listen that he will be working 10 jobs when he grows up. To our benefit, one of the jobs he will work will be in construction. I asked The Boy if he wanted to do a construction project. He enthusiastically said, “Yes,” and ran inside to grab his gear: Reflective vest, tool belt, helmet. We went to the basement to get a measuring tape for his belt. I grabbed a claw hammer, some pliers, a staple gun. I wait for times like these when I can do something with my son. Cartoons and baseball is still a no-no, so I take what I can get.

The father-son repair project “Before” photo. There is no “After” photo.

We get to the swing set. The Boy needs to measure the steps that are being repaired. He measures and marks them with a pencil. I haven’t removed the nails or the staples yet, but he needs to measure anyway. I remove the staples and nails. The Boy measures again. I line up the rungs and staple them in. Some need more than one. No problem. It just may take a minute or two longer than expected. Suddenly, The Boy needs to use the bathroom. He just went before he started, but he’s Union. On his way back to the project, he sees his bike. He just wants to ride it for a minute before he comes back to work. He never came back. His vest is on the patio. I pick it up along with his measuring tape and the rest of the tools and put them back on the bench. Our two-minute bonding session comes to an end.