Let me be among the first to wish you a very happy Thanksgiving. I know, the official Turkey Day is still a few days away, but we got ours started early this year. The Sherrod Ave. Church of Christ, where M and I attend, had their annual Thanksgiving Day Dinner after worship this morning. The gym was full of tables and chairs and there was a hungry person in almost every seat as the smell of smoked turkey hung heavily over those gathered.
In this edition of Baseball, God and Tacos, I want to look back at the early Thanksgiving Days of my youth, say from about 1964 to 1970. Keep in mind, these are recollections as I remember them. My brother Barry and my mom, the only other two alive from those days, might have different recollections. To be honest, theirs may be right, but this is how I remember them.
I remember the morning started early. We were usually awakened about 7 or 7.30 for breakfast. I don't remember it being anything special, that meal would come later in the day, but it could have been oatmeal or pancakes, or a bowl of Cheerios pr Frosted Flakes.
Once breakfast was over, Barry and I would head to the bedroom we shared, where our clothes for the day were laid out for us, at least in those early years. We dressed nice for the day, the clothes we put on were not quite our church clothes, but they were pretty nice. Mom and dad dressed like they were going out for dinner.
Once we left our house in the St. Louis suburb of Overland, we would the 20 miles or so to downtown St. Louis for the first stop of the day. Once we parked, we would casually stroll through downtown St. Louis, along with hundreds of others, looking at the Christmas windows in the department stores. I remember looking at the numerous windows of Famous-Barr, Boyd's, Stix, Baer & Fuller, stores that now only exist in our memories. I know what you are thinking, didn't I see this in the Christmas classic, "Christmas Story?" Well yes and no. This was Missouri, not Indiana, it was Thanksgiving, not Christmas, and there was no snow on the ground. But there were lots of Christmas windows to look at and dream about.
After 45 minutes or so, with the gawking behind us, it was back in the car to head to my Granny Red's home in south St. Louis. My dad's mother, we called her Granny Red because, well, she had red hair. Made sense to me.
One thing I have to tell you about my two grannies. First, I was blessed to have both of them until I was 45 years old. I will forever be grateful for that. Second, my Granny Dalton, mom's mom, was an incredibly good cook. There was never a bad meal at her house. Ever. My favorites were her meatloaf, her coconut cream pie, her apricot fried pies and her homemade bread. I'm getting a little teary just thinking about it.
My Granny Red on the other hand, bless her heart, would have trouble boiling water. She was not a good cook, and fortunately for the rest of us, she knew she wasn't a good cook and didn't try to fake it. Except on Thanksgiving. She always made the turkey and dressing. Papa John, my step-grandfather, worked for the St. Louis Zoo, and every Thanksgiving, received a free turkey from the zoo. But somehow, someway, she always managed to cook a perfect turkey with dressing. Sixty years later, I still don't know how she accomplished it.
Granny Red was also way ahead of her time. When we would arrive at their home on Fyler, just off Hampton. you could be assured of three things. As soon as you walked through the door, there was the pleasing aroma of turkey. Secondly, there was football from Tiger Stadium in Detroit, where the Lions would be playing the Bears or Vikings or some other northern team. Lastly, and here is where she gets kudos, she would have on the table a small tray filled with sliced cheddar, salami and pepperoni, black olives, sweet gherkins and Ritz crackers. Granny Red, back in the mid 60's was putting out for a pre-dinner snack what she called "Grazings," you know, like we would graze like cattle. Which we did. This is at least 50 years before anyone ever heard of a charcuterie board.
About 3.30 or 4, while it was still daylight, we said our good-byes and piled back in the car. I'm pretty sure I slept on the 20-minute journey to Grandpa and Granny Dalton's, who also lived in Overland, just a couple blocks from us. Granny would have some pumpkin pie, some coffee for the adults, and we would once again have dessert.
The day would end well after dark, and we would make the three-or-four-minute drive home, go inside and Barry and I would crash in our bed. Mom would come in and get our good clothes off of us, because we did not have enough sense, or were just too tired to do it ourself.
Every time Thanksgiving week comes around, I have the same memories, memories which I just described. They are so real, like they just happened last year. I cherish them deeply.
I will not be with either one of my sons and their families this year, in fact, I haven't in a number of years. Barclay is in Georgia, and Clayton is in California, and they are surrounded by their spouse's families. It's sad to not be with them, but I am grateful they are with family and making memories.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. More so than Christmas, more so than the Fourth of July more so than Opening Day of the baseball season. Nothing really comes close.
I'm grateful we will be with Marilyn's family on Thursday in Arkansas, then on Saturday we will drive to St. Louis, and I'll be with Mom for a few days.
For 68 years I have been blessed far beyond what I deserve. I am thankful for many things in my life, my parents and grandparents, for Marilyn and her family, for Barclay and Clayton. But what I am most thankful for is that God loves me. There is no love on Earth that can top that.
Have a wonderful week my friends, I hope you have opportunity to be with family this week. Know that I love and appreciate each one of you as well. Thank you for being family and being my friends. Be safe and be kind to each other.
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