Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was always such a huge holiday for my family, before my grandmother died. We would go to my grandparents every year and feast. A feast included all aunts and uncles, all cousins, all in-laws to the in-laws and anyone who knows the in-laws. It was a massive event that resulted in food being brought in by everyone, along with all that my Grandmother had spent a week preparing. We used long buffet tables pushed together, normally five or six, and they ran all the way from the living room into the kitchen.

We would all sit down and my Grandfather would say grace, the only time I ever saw him pray. He wasn’t a religious man and the only time I ever saw him go into a church was for funerals, and even then, it had to be a family member, friends were remembered at home. Then everyone had to name something that they were thankful for.

There was always a fire burning and even though we had every kind of home made pie imaginable, all of us kids looked forward to roasting marshmallows when we were done stuffing our faces.

It didn’t end when everyone was done eating though. Our Thanksgiving lasted well into the night with the adults playing cards and us kids sneaking outside to do whatever we wanted. Us younger kids usually played hide and seek as my grandfather’s land was full of great hiding places, the older kids, would sneak off into the shop to play truth and dare or spin the bottle.

My first Thanksgiving at Western Academy was bittersweet. It would set the trend for a very long time to come. Me celebrating with people other then my family.

Most of the kids that were there went home for Thanksgiving. The few of us who stayed numbered about five, including me. We were gathered up and a small turkey roll was prepared with potatoes and gravy, stuffing and corn. Not the massive feast I was used to and I forever hate turkey rolls.

There was no prayer, there was no giving of thanks, which was probably good because I didn’t feel I had a lot to be thankful for other then being alive and many times that was even questionable.

My heart was heavy as I thought of my family celebrating. I wondered if they even missed me or if they would just fill the chair with another warm body. I had to wonder if I even mattered to any of them.

This was the first year of my mother’s “Adopt an Orphan” program. It was not a program really, just a habit of finding someone at work that didn’t have family and insisting that they join hers for the holidays.

How could a woman who didn’t want anyone be alone for the holidays, ignore her own child. Leave her alone in a place full of strangers at such a young age?

As I poked my fork through the lumpy mashed potatoes I became enraged at her. My little broken heart bubbled up and I flung my plate across the room and felt a small amount of satisfaction as it smashed against the wall. My glass of milk quickly followed before the staff could recover. I jumped to my feet and began to scream at them. I told them how I hated them and I hated this place and they had no right to keep me locked away from the rest of the world.

With tears of anger and anguish streaming down my face I reached for the plate of the boy who was sitting next to me, the same boy who had poured coffee on my shirt and when lifted it up out of my reach I grabbed his milk and poured it over the top of him before flinging it too.

By that time the staff had recovered and closed the difference between them and myself. I felt arms grab a hold of me and I went crazy. I began to thrash and kick and scream. I thought maybe if I screamed loud enough the people in the house next door would come to rescue me and I would finally have a family that loved me.

They hauled me into the time out room and I continue to scream as they struggled to maintain control of me. They couldn’t lay me on my back because my legs were too powerful and I was kicking the crap out of them. They pinned my arms above my head and I curled my hands up and drove my nails painfully into the flesh of their hands. They finally managed to flip me over but it was no better, they were holding my hands too close to my face and reached out and sunk my teeth into a hand. I didn’t know who it belonged to, I didn’t care. How dare they treat me like a fucking animal, no matter that I was acting like one, they had no right.

I began to sweat with the effort of fighting off three adults and they were sweating with the effort of holding down one very small girl. I suppose I should find some satisfaction in that, but I really don’t. This was the first time that I was ever restrained; however, it would be far from the last.

Each year I look forward to the holidays and each year something goes wrong on Thanksgiving. This year, I am working, so we had planned on having the in-laws over on Sunday for the big dinner. I went through a lot of trouble to make this huge menu of stuff that we would be having, the children and I preparing ourselves for a whole day of baking pies and such. I was really looking forward to it.

Of course, with the crap that my father in law pulled, we immediately revoked the invitation to him and they decided to do Thanksgiving today without us. Even if we had been invited, we wouldn’t have gone.

So, this year, my family is eating hamburgers, and home made mac and cheese (Amber has the most awesome recipe! Thanks Amber!) And I will be eating with coworkers.

Sunday with be just Chris, our children, and myself. However, I do have a lot to be thankful for.

I have a great family. Loving husband, beautiful and loving children. I have good friends who love me, I have a job, we have a place of our own. We have each other and right now, we all have our health.

I hope that all of you who celebrate, have enjoyed your Thanksgiving. I hope that like me, everyone, will find something to be Thankful for this year.