Greetings to everyone,
I hope that all of your Thanksgiving plans and preparations are coming along well, because if they are not, you are just about out of time. We had the opportunity to go and visit Terri and Josh last night and it sounds like their big Thanksgiving extravaganza is coming along right on schedule. One thing is for certain, no one will go away hungry that’s for sure. Which brings me to today’s subject.
I have discussed the information now with many who were present and I can now confirm that this incident did occur at the same Thanksgiving as the pumpkin pie fiasco. So, to set the stage, we had just finished the trial for Big Ben and Susie and it was now time to dry our tears about the pies that were lost and be grateful for that which we did have, (albeit Susie’s little escapade did do a significant number on the quantity of remaining deserts)
We sat down to dinner, said grace and began to pass the sumptuous delicacies that had been prepared for us by loving hands. My son Ben, who was about 3 years old, was seated next to me on my left and Karen, who was keeping an eye on Terri who had just turned 1, was seated on my right. As each dish came by, I took a little bit and put it on Ben’s plate and then took a big helping and placed it on my plate.
By the time all of the food was passed, I had one of the finest plates full of Thanksgiving fare that had ever been assembled in one place. I still remember thinking, just before digging in to that first bite, how hungry I was and how great this is going to taste. I remember this vividly, because I think the same thought every Thanksgiving. (Really, if you thought men’s minds were more complicated than that, boy do we have you fooled)
I then looked over at Ben, admiring, rather proudly, what a great job I did of filling the boy’s plate. For those of you who think that the ability to create such a culinary masterpiece on ones plate and then to consume that much food comes naturally, you are mistaken, it comes from years of practice and training, and Ben wasn’t too young to begin the process.
So, as I was admiring my handy work, I noticed that Ben was having a problem. He had just taken a big bite from a spoonful of dressing and suddenly he started turning green. He looked over at me with a pathetic look, a look that I had seen before shortly after his mother had given him spinach, and I unfortunately knew what was coming. I also knew that I had only a few seconds to avert what could be a disaster of epic proportion. But, before I could react he reached out and threw-up in his hands and all over his plate. I have to admit, that it was one of the worst things that I had ever experienced, but that paled in comparison to what happened next.
Without missing a beat, he simply took the handful of what started out as his Thanksgiving dinner, reached over and placed it squarely in the middle of my turkey and mashed potatoes. Now, I have seen a lot of things in my life, but that was perhaps the most gross and saddest of all. Of course, Mom and Grandma were up quickly to rescue poor Ben, clean him up and fix him another plate. But, as for my plight, do you think anyone offered to help? Do you think anyone even cared that I had been scarred for life?
I hope that all of your Thanksgiving plans and preparations are coming along well, because if they are not, you are just about out of time. We had the opportunity to go and visit Terri and Josh last night and it sounds like their big Thanksgiving extravaganza is coming along right on schedule. One thing is for certain, no one will go away hungry that’s for sure. Which brings me to today’s subject.
I have discussed the information now with many who were present and I can now confirm that this incident did occur at the same Thanksgiving as the pumpkin pie fiasco. So, to set the stage, we had just finished the trial for Big Ben and Susie and it was now time to dry our tears about the pies that were lost and be grateful for that which we did have, (albeit Susie’s little escapade did do a significant number on the quantity of remaining deserts)
We sat down to dinner, said grace and began to pass the sumptuous delicacies that had been prepared for us by loving hands. My son Ben, who was about 3 years old, was seated next to me on my left and Karen, who was keeping an eye on Terri who had just turned 1, was seated on my right. As each dish came by, I took a little bit and put it on Ben’s plate and then took a big helping and placed it on my plate.
By the time all of the food was passed, I had one of the finest plates full of Thanksgiving fare that had ever been assembled in one place. I still remember thinking, just before digging in to that first bite, how hungry I was and how great this is going to taste. I remember this vividly, because I think the same thought every Thanksgiving. (Really, if you thought men’s minds were more complicated than that, boy do we have you fooled)
I then looked over at Ben, admiring, rather proudly, what a great job I did of filling the boy’s plate. For those of you who think that the ability to create such a culinary masterpiece on ones plate and then to consume that much food comes naturally, you are mistaken, it comes from years of practice and training, and Ben wasn’t too young to begin the process.
So, as I was admiring my handy work, I noticed that Ben was having a problem. He had just taken a big bite from a spoonful of dressing and suddenly he started turning green. He looked over at me with a pathetic look, a look that I had seen before shortly after his mother had given him spinach, and I unfortunately knew what was coming. I also knew that I had only a few seconds to avert what could be a disaster of epic proportion. But, before I could react he reached out and threw-up in his hands and all over his plate. I have to admit, that it was one of the worst things that I had ever experienced, but that paled in comparison to what happened next.
Without missing a beat, he simply took the handful of what started out as his Thanksgiving dinner, reached over and placed it squarely in the middle of my turkey and mashed potatoes. Now, I have seen a lot of things in my life, but that was perhaps the most gross and saddest of all. Of course, Mom and Grandma were up quickly to rescue poor Ben, clean him up and fix him another plate. But, as for my plight, do you think anyone offered to help? Do you think anyone even cared that I had been scarred for life?
Suddenly I wasn’t so hungry anymore, I am not really sure that I had much, if anything else to eat the rest of the day. Since that time, almost a quarter century later, there has not been a single Thanksgiving go by that the subject hasn’t come up (pardon the pun) The only real lasting effect was that Ben hasn’t touched dressing since then, which is probably best for all involved.
Ben sent me an email yesterday saying, in regard to my title “I’m NEVER eating dressing again,” Dad, you’re not the only one who hasn’t eaten dressing since that day, implying to me, that which I already knew, that he hasn’t touched dressing since that day. My response to him was that I didn’t say that I have never eaten dressing since that day. As a matter of fact, I still love dressing. I just let him know that from then on, I have been very careful who I sit next to at Holiday Time :)
Blessings everyone, and Happy Thanksgiving!
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