A Thanksgiving to Remember

I often have heard that the holiday seasons bring out the best and the worst in folks. As I am thinking back on many of my holidays I understand why. I was six years old and the family size had increased again. We were now up to eight folks in the house. We were also frequently sharing life with our extended family. My mother’s sister also had a large family and they would frequently visit. By and large the visits were always welcome because the kids would have each other to play with and the parents would do the parent thing. For many years the parent thing involved loud conversations about their work, the government, and the people they did not like. The kitchen was the social center of the house it was the room that had access to food and beer. As I remember Genesee Cream Ale (Genny) was the beer of choice and it would be involved in a lot of my memories. As the visit wore on the talk got louder and us kids found ways to occupy our time. In my younger days my grandmother would also visit. Her name was Ella and she was never a happy person. She had her favorite children and grand children, I was nowhere in the running. My grandmothers first husband died before I could remember him. The second husband smoked cigars. I remember him as being a good balance for my grandmother. The house was full with grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.
It was Thanksgiving 1970 and again we had our family and our cousins over for a visit. Feeding a large family is an undertaking on a regular day. To make a “feast” as is the requirement for a proper American thanksgiving is a task. To create the feast for two large families and grandparents required significant work. As long as I can remember my dad was the primary cook, and he was good at it. There are meals that were staples and it was ok because they were good. My parents had spent a significant part of the day preparing for the “feast”. We kids spent a significant amount of the day being a pain in the side of the parents. I do not think it was intentional it just was. Upwards of a dozen kids in the age of ten and below is a pain. As such we were often pushed into another room to the baby sitter, otherwise known as the television. I will talk more about the television later.
It was mid to late afternoon and the dinner was ready. Making the dinner was one thing. Getting the dinner distributed was another. It was a rare thing for the entire family to sit around the table. Typically table space was reserved for the really young kids and the adults. The various foods were set on the table and the “kids” started at one end and worked their way around the table. There were many of us to get around the table and I was not the first in line. My time arrived and I did as all before me had done, piled the plate high with the various dishes available and exited past the refrigerator and bathroom door to the living room. I found a place on the floor because there was not seating for ten kids and began eating. I had food, the television was on, and I was good to go. During a program change or commercial break I decided to go for round two of the dinner.
Something went wrong. To this day have no idea whether I ate too much in one sitting or if I had consumed something that did not agree with me. The end result is as I was going to the table for my second round my first round came back with a vengeance. I was aware something was not right and set the plate on the end of the table and made a mad dash to the bathroom which was off to the right of the kitchen. I almost made it, almost. As a result there was a mess and there was confusion on my behalf. I had no idea why I was losing dinner but I was. There was a significant mess in the bathroom. There was significant disruption to the thanksgiving “festivities” and I was the cause. In short order my mother was involved and not at all happy. In fact she was unhappy to the point of being out of control.
Between the bathroom and the kitchen was a refrigerator. On the refrigerator handle was a leather belt. It was long and wide. It was one of those later 60’s “hippie” style belts with 3 holes across so yes it was wide about three inches wide. It was placed there for ease of access for my mom and for a constant waning to us kids. That was the first out of control beating I remember. I had gotten sick, I had made a mess and I had received a beating that would never forget. There were belt marks across my legs and lower back, for being sick. I have never forgotten that beating. I have also never been sick again. Once it is in there is only one way it is coming out.
Many years later I would be frustrated at my youngest and he would receive a whipping from me that would leave marks on him, and as I write they are still on me. Sometime later I would understand that my son did not understand as I or normal folks understood. I apologized to him. I am not sure he understood the apology. I have struggled to make sure I did not repeat the errors of my parents. My kids have been sick, it is ok. They have spilled things it is ok. They have been kids it is ok. I have not always replied to more serious offenses with a calm level head. But with the exception of the one time with the youngest I have never beat them when I not in full control of my actions.
There have been many thanksgivings since that one. But that one stands out because of the total contradiction the day represented. I was thankful for the ending of the beating and not much more.