Thanksgiving for Dummies

Last night we asked each other the same question we usually ask on Saturday nights: "What are you gonna do tomorrow?

My answer is always the same: "Football."

Jodi's answer changes. This week when I asked her the question, she answered, "I'm gonna start organizing for Thanksgiving."

I'm not kidding. Today my wife will be "organizing for Thanksgiving." And actually, today's not even the start of that. The organizing already started a few weeks ago. The Thanksgiving holiday really begins the moment I first hear the question: "So what should we have for Thanksgiving this year?"

I don't even know why that question comes up. We have the same thing for Thanskgiving every year. It's the same dishes every single year. Because if we don't have the same dishes every year, Jodi's mom's head will explode.

That's okay with me. I don't care what we eat, as long as it has fat and sugar.

This is the big difference between Jodi's family and my family. Jodi's family always designed every single one of their holidays and vacations around one thing: food.

My family, on the other hand, always designed every single one of our holidays and vacations around going to Catholic mass. That's because Catholics have created a patron saint or a patron sinner or a patron mixed drink for every occasion under the sun. And whenever there's a day off, you can damn well bet you're gonna be dragged to church for something. I remember just sitting there in the living room as a little kid and someone would say something like, "C'mon Paul, it's a holy day. We have to go get dirt put on our foreheads." Then one day later, "C'mon Paul, it's Cheesecake Thursday. Gotta go to mass. St. Cheesecake will be waiting." Then the next day, "C'mon Paul, it's Good Friday. Time to go to mass again and eat fishsticks." I swear to God, Catholics can ruin any day off from school or work by making you spend it sitting in a hard wooden pew.

The good thing about being Catholic, though, is that mass only lasts about 45 minutes on average, even though it always seems a lot longer. And not only that, as long as you say certain words and do a few simple things, they release you back into the wild like a catfish and you can do practically anything you want until the next mass. You'll be sitting there in church and it'll be something like:

Priest (in very monotone voice): "Oh God, in your bountiful wisdom, do that one thing."

Congregation: "Lord hear our prayer."

Priest: "Who's on first, What's on second, I Don't Know's on third."

Congregation: "Lord hear our prayer."

Priest: "Now go, get out of here, in the peace of the Lord and junk."

Congregation: "Lord hear our prayer."

And then everyone would race out of there, and they'd all go drink and smoke and fornicate and murder. But it was okay, as long as you went back the next week, said three Hail Mary's, and kept repeating "Lord hear our prayer."

So that's what I was used to growing up. Jodi, on the other hand, lived in this family where everything was about food. And that's the routine I've now had for the last 18 years. And I can tell you exactly how this Thanksgiving is going to go, because it's the same EVERY SINGLE YEAR.

Today Jodi will get out the pad of paper and work out her schedule, her remaining "to do" list, etc.

Then she's taking the entire week off work. To shop and cook.

Let me repeat that. She's taking the entire week off work... To shop... And cook.

For four people.

So this week there will be multiple trips to multiple stores. There will be all kinds of pots filled with all kinds of I don't know what. Hours and hours and hours of preparation.

On Thanksgiving day, Jodi's mom will come over to say that she's going to help cook. But as soon as she gets here, she'll announce that she's tired and will go into the other room to take a nap. She'll sleep for a few hours and magically will wake up about 15 minutes before we eat.

As for me, I'll be in charge of cleaning the house, as if we were expecting the Queen of England to show up. Even though the same four people have seen the house as a mess a million times before, the house MUST be cleaned, sanitized, and fumigated because that's the way the early Americans celebrated Thanksgiving. That, plus they would go out and murder all the Indians. Well, what do you expect? They didn't have football on Thanksgiving in those days, so they had to find some kind of activity. They just happened to choose murdering all the Indians.

Then we'll sit at the table. And Jodi's mom will look at me and say, "Paul, would you like to say grace?"

I haven't said grace at the table in forever, but she'll still ask me, because I have a penis. At least that's the rumor circulating in the family. I have a penis. And she goes to some whacko Baptist church, and that means the prayer is supposed to be said by the person with the oldest penis at the table. And that would be my penis.

But I don't say grace. I don't like to say grace. I don't even know why it's called "grace." I think a person's religious beliefs are a very personal thing between that person and his paranoia.

I've never liked the whole "saying grace" thing. At least in my Catholic family it was quick and dirty. Everyone would say it, not just one person, and we'd say it as fast as we could: "Bless-us-oh-lord-and-these-thy-gifts-which-we-are-about-to-receive-from-thy-bounty-through-christ-our-lord-amen." Beautiful. Four seconds of some rambling words and you're elbows deep in the mashed potatoes.

But Protestants are different. With them, saying grace is like really bad performance art. I swear, I think these people believe that saying grace should have been one of the categories on Star Search, right next to the Spokes Model competition. That's how they treat it anyway. I've seen some really impressive performances by some really crazy Protestants in my time, and it's never pretty. It always goes on and on forever, while all the food on the table starts developing ice crystals...

"Oh dear Lord God Jesus Christ Immanuel Savior Player to Be Named Later, Thanksgiving is a special, wondrous, glorious occasion filled with everlasting blah blah blah blah blah..."

Two hours later...

"And God! Let your manna fall from heaven like the snows of the Rocky Mountains..."

Two hours later...

"And Lord! We're not prejudiced or anything, but the reason we hate black people and Mexicans is..."

Two hours later...

"ShouldacomeonaHonda! ShouldacomeonaHonda! Who here has the intrepretation of the tongues? Please step forward to the microphone and give it please!..."

Two hours later...

"And the Lord also says, Why have your foresaken me, America? Why have you voted for that black guy? Did I tell you to vote for the black guy? Verily nay, I told you to vote for the old senile white guy and the retarded lady with the nice rack. Why have you foresaken me? Don't you know the Lord your God is an angry God?! And the Lord also says, Health reform is bad! Health reform is evil! Why should we have to pay for the health problems of others?! The Lord says, We work hard every day! Those people should have to pay for their own health care! Screw them! For as our Lord said on the Sermon on the Mount, Blessed are the... MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE!..."

Two hours later...

"So Lord, without further ado, please bless this food and nourish it to our healthy bodies as we now proceed to eat our weight in gravy. Amen."

That's what she wants me to say. But I won't do it. So I say, "No thanks. I don't want to say grace." And that's why she always has to say grace herself. This happens EVERY SINGLE YEAR.

So there it is. It's an absolute frenzy of activity. Weeks and weeks of talking about what foods will be eaten, days and days of planning, preparing, cooking, cleaning, and praying. We'll get out the good dishes and napkins. We'll sit down. All those weeks, days, and hours leading up to this one moment...

And then we'll gorge ourselves mindlessly, and 27 seconds later it'll all be over. A month of planning, organizing, shopping, cooking, praying.... 27 seconds of eating.

EVERY SINGLE YEAR.

And then, because I didn't do any of the cooking, I will have to spend the next few thousand hours doing dishes.

And then if I'm lucky I'll get to watch some football.

And then the planning will begin for what we will eat for Christmas.

"Lord hear our prayer."

Comments

[Beth]

At least you know what to expect. There is a lot to say about no surprises.

Happy Thanksgiving!

[ian]

that was fantastic!

[OHN]

Oh my God..you are living MY life. I am a recovering catholic and my husband is from the group that stands holding hands, in a circle, praying for hours while the food gets cold.

I have no clue how we have managed to stay married for 28 years...and still like each other.

[Ivan Toblog]

"The good thing about being Catholic, though, is that mass only lasts about 45 minutes on average..."

If they'd go back to latin with the alter boys making the responses, it could be twenty minutes... or less.

[Brother Pants]

That is primo, amigo. Hope that one is in your next book. The world needs to hear your pain.

[Jason]

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Happy Holidays!

Jason
HilariousHeadlines.com