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My Thanksgiving: Yum!
Posted by KC Rell, Dec 1, 2008. 1572 views. ID = 2070

My Thanksgiving

Posted by KC Rell, Dec 1, 2008. 1572 views. ID = 2070
This post was written in 5 minutes.
This is my first short story so...hope it's good :P
This post has been awarded 8 stars by 2 readers.

I have always loved Thanksgiving. The smell of the juicy meat, the oven-rolls, the butter-filled mashed potatoes, the thick, creamy gravy…it’s all so wonderful. Especially eating all of it. My mommy usually makes all of it (with a little help from me, of course), and it usually turns out wonderful. If my daddy helps, though, the smell isn’t all that sweet. The smoke alarm usually goes off and the thick, creamy gravy is usually black. Don’t ask me how that’s possible.

Our whole family usually comes an hour before it’s all done; my older brother, and my younger brother who has shut himself in his room all day and who had just now come out when he smells the spicy meat. My older brother usually comes with his wife, Mandy, and their little baby, Sam. Mandy usually sets up dinner. “No, no, Lily!” she says to me when I try to taste some of the food, and smacks my nose. How can I help it if I want to make sure the food isn’t poisoned? Not that my mommy or daddy would poison us, but you never know. And I’m just doing my job. Mommy tells me to help. Mandy finishes setting the table, and soon everyone starts to bring out all the food. In prayer, I try to snatch a little bite from my little brother’s plate. My daddy glares at me and I bow my head, embarrassed. When mommy finishes, she goes to the kitchen and brings out the turkey. Twenty pounds of juicy, thick meat is sure to make anyone’s mouth water, but mine is the worst. I haven’t eaten all day for this special event; the event of fill-your-stomach-full-with-all-you-can-eat. It’s so exciting!

Daddy, of course, has to cut the turkey. Don’t ask me why, seeing as how all he does is turn stuff black, and mommy’s the one who made it, but he insists. “Family tradition,” my younger brother whispers to me. I don’t see how daddy cutting the turkey could possibly be a family tradition, but I guess he always has.

Soon, everyone starts passing things around. Everything seems to get passed by me, but none of it stays. As soon as I try and take some food, they all take it away. I guess I’m going to be last. I helped! I don’t see why I’m going to be last; I helped the most out of anyone besides mommy. I helped her clean up the floor when she dropped stuff! I’m the best helper in the world. And yet no one will pass me any food. The turkey…ooh, the turkey sounds delicious! I wish I could just dig in it. But no one will pass me any. What did I do wrong? When I look at mommy she is just staring, lovingly, at her plate and won’t return my stare.

As soon as the dinner is done, everyone cleans up. They throw all their leftovers in the trashcan, and put their dishes in the sink. Mandy does the dishes, saying to mommy that she worked too hard and she should go relax. I stay with Mandy, though. There’s something amusing about watching people do the dishes. I don’t know why.

Soon I hear laughter coming from the living room; my older brother and younger brother are playing a game of chess. My older brother is winning, probably. He is a champ at chess. My mommy and daddy just cheer, and soon Mandy is out in the room, too, and pushing past me to sit next to my mommy. Soon my younger brother is lighting the fire, and a sweet caroling of Christmas music is playing from who-knows-where. I think it might be the weird-looking black box that is always sitting next to the huge screen called a TV.

Once my older brother and Mandy’s baby, Sam, their little “trouble-maker” is crying so hard they don’t know what to do, they have to leave. I don’t mind, though—Mandy was always a little mean to me. I felt like telling on her for smacking my nose, but mommy won’t believe me.

“Lily!” my mommy yells for me. I run into the kitchen where she is unloading the dishwasher and cleaning off the counters. Soon everything is back to how it normally was: no spots or anything on the plates or cups. Not even on the large spoon that mommy used to stir the gravy, which (don’t tell) I licked clean afterwards.

“How did you like Thanksgiving, sweetie?” Mommy finishes putting one last cup in the cupboard.

“Fine, I guess,” I say bitterly. “But I still wish you guys would have given me the leftovers for the turkey, at least. It’s going to be eaten all by the cats in the neighborhood, anyhow, and my dog food is starting to taste really stale.”

My mommy smiles at me. “It was fun for me, too.”

Copyright 2008 KC Rell. All rights reserved. has been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work. For permission to reprint this item, please contact the author.

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This post has been awarded 8 stars by 2 readers.

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