A Holiday Reflection

As far as Thanksgiving dinner goes, my sister and I are confirmed, stick-in-the-mud traditionalists. Turkey -- not chicken or some other poultry, or ham -- with the stuffing, the gravy, the mashed potatoes and squash and apple pie. One November evening several years ago, at the dinner table, my Retired Marine proposed a revolutionary, totally unorthodox Thanksgiving dinner. His suggestion was met with stunned silence by his spouse and children, followed by a rebellious uproar, and he dropped the idea like it was a live snake. Now, if someone muses about changing the menu just a little -- like maybe adding pecans to the stuffing, or chopped cranberries -- he grumbles about when HE wanted to change things but NOBODY was willing to go along with it. I think he was slightly insulted and maybe a little hurt. But he's a good sport.

Thanksgiving dinner got me thinking about holidays and the Christmas my mother finally rebelled against established tradition. My grandfather Mahoney lived in the old family home with an aunt and an uncle who had never married, and where all the busybody relatives felt free to come and go as they pleased. Not one of them could cook worth a damn. My memories of Christmas dinners there, as a kid under 10, are of overcooked, overly salty turkey and vegetables, and rather thin gravy with unidentifiable THINGS floating around in it (later described by Mom as "giblets". I was afraid to ask what those were). The dining room furniture was heavy dark wood, the oriental carpet was dark, the room was gloomy and there wasn't much conversation -- tough on fidgety young kids who were used to holidays being a lot more noisy and exciting.

Mom's rebellion began when she invited Grandpa to our house for Christmas dinner, probably having had enough of Mahoney cooking to last a lifetime. Grandpa didn't drive by then, so one of the single relatives would volunteer to drive him up, and you couldn't very well invite Grandpa without inviting Auntie Ollie and Uncle Gyp. That was fine because we loved Auntie Ollie, and Uncle Gyp was usually reclusive and didn't come anyway. Unfortunately for Mom that also usually meant that Aunt Helen was available to fill the space at the table. Mom couldn't stand Aunt Helen and she scared the hell out of us kids -- maybe not such a bad thing, in retrospect. Aunt Helen always said whatever was on her mind, and that was usually something negative or critical; the rest of my father's family just went along with it because that was the way she was, and anyway they were all used to her. On the other hand, Mom was very fond of Grandpa and Auntie Ollie, and in families you take the good along with whatever has a valid driver's license.

So that was the way things went for a couple of Christmases, until the year Mom decided that turkey at Thanksgiving and turkey at Christmas was one turkey too many. She informed my father that this year Christmas dinner would be roast beef. My dad looked shocked and mumbled something about how "they" wouldn't like the change, and Mom looked him square in the eye and told him in no uncertain terms that anyone who didn't like it didn't have to come. It fell upon Dad to deliver the news of the change of menu to his family. (I should mention here that Mom was an outstanding cook and could have made a telephone book into a meal fit for company.)

As it turned out, Grandpa was tickled pink and readily accepted. Aunt Helen, on the other hand, was horrified and told my dad sternly that you were SUPPOSED to have turkey on Christmas and why would anyone even think of having roast beef, or anything else? I would love to have been a fly on the wall for the rest of that (probably very short) conversation. Dad was not a man of great patience. I suspect he told Aunt Helen she could have turkey if she wanted to, but dinner at our house would be roast beef. I also suspect he may have phrased things a little more pointedly than I have here.

I don't remember whether Aunt Helen showed up that year or not. Faced with the prospect of going without, or eating her own cooking, she probably did. I've often thought the whole roast beef thing was a plot on Mom's part to keep Aunt Helen away, and there may have been a more sinister motive at work there, because roast beef, after all, is more traditionally English, and what better way to piss off a bunch of Irish relatives than to have an English-style Christmas dinner? I do remember that Grandpa was always gracious and grateful to have been invited, as was Auntie Ollie (and Uncle Gyp, when he did materialize). That was probably the last time Grandpa came for Christmas before he died; a couple of years later, Grandpa's place at the table would be filled by his brother George, our great-uncle and honorary grandfather, and a delightful gentleman. Uncle George always had stories to tell... but that's another story for another time.

I miss them, and I hope wherever they have gone they are sharing stories, good food, and the joy of being together. God bless them all, and the rest of us as well. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

~ November 23, 2011