Passed Down
Thanksgiving Family Memories
My elderly grandmother lived with my aunt, her oldest daughter, both were widowed. Thanksgiving was always at their home, and Christmas dinner was always at our home. My grandmother, who we called Nanny, insisted that the children shouldn't be taken away from their toys from Santa.
We piled into the car and hopped onto the Harbor freeway. We were so hungry because no one was allowed in the kitchen on these mornings at our house. Mom was cooking special dishes only prepared for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. 25 minutes later we arrived at Aunt Mary's. Upon entering the back door, the aroma of fresh baked yeast rolls permeates the senses. We knew just what to do.
Our father would sit in the living room entertaining the youngest child while the two older kids went to the dining room. Now this rectangular shaped room was the brightest sky blue from the Crayola crayon # 64 crayon box, with a bay window covered in white sheer curtains at the end of the room and along the side wall windows. Below the windows was the china cabinet with sliding glass doors. There was glass and china everywhere! Along the opposite wall was a covered full-size map of the United States. We would always stop and study that map.
Barbara, our older cousin would walk in and see that we needed to get busy setting the dinner table, all of us keeping out of the way of three women in the kitchen. After setting the table, we joined our father, our younger brother and our cousin James Earle in the living room. We were waiting for the announcement that the time had finally arrived to eat. We knew it was coming, we could hear them taking the serving dishes and placing them perfectly in the center of the table. Lastly, either our father or cousin James Earle would be in charge of moving the bird from the kitchen to the dining room to its place in front of my father's seat. It seemed like an eternity, but in reality, from arrival to sit down was probably just half an hour.
At last, we all were seated at the long rectangular table covered with a tablecloth that had been altered to fit it. It was a piece from the long embassy tablecloth once used for state dinners during my grandfather's tenure as Ambassador to Liberia.
Finally, it was time to carve the turkey and I'm not sure how our father developed this skill, but he did a masterful job. The turkey didn't have a chance. Perhaps being a barber helped? No, wait, he was a Navy veteran who served in WWII. As a black man he was relegated to serve in the kitchen, perhaps his skill was honed there. Once the turkey was carved, plates were passed around the table 1 by 1 and got filled with turkey and all the fixins.
We were finally going to eat! With everyone seated, and us children trying to hold it together knowing that Nanny said long and meandering prayers, hands were held and the prayer commenced. Remember, us kids were "starving"! Our plates were in front of us, full of good eats, the aroma filling our nostrils like on a cartoon. We made it to the end of the prayer, but forgot....everyone at the table had to say what they were thankful for, BEFORE eating! Did we copy off of each other - you bet we did.
The time had come and the sound of metal on china prevailed as we finally started eating. Pass the rolls, pass the butter, Aunt Mary's yeast rolls from scratch melted in my mouth.
Nanny who was nearly deaf was always regaling stories from her time in Liberia. Her stories were mostly unintelligible because she chuckled and laughed as she would become so tickled at whatever she was trying to tell us. We took our cues from her, openly laughing when she did, yet carrying on our own conversations that she couldn't hear. Now this may seem cruel and disrespectful, but there were no new stories! We took our cues and approval from the adults at the table. My grandmother sat at the head of the table with our father at the opposite end.
Aunt Mary would get up and go back and forth to the kitchen (she was baking more rolls-yay!)
There were rules and not just for this day, no elbows or arms on the table and never talk with food in your mouth! We laughed, talked and enjoyed each other's company. Christmas was always on the agenda with our wishes being known to all.
As dinner came to a close and as I got older, I would help in the kitchen. There was no automatic miraculous dishwasher. We got those dishes, washed, dried and put away. Leftovers were stacked on the kitchen table with some to go packages. My father would call out to see who wanted to try to break the wishbone. I never got it to break my way.
Dessert was served, always neapolitan ice cream, pound cake and egg nog. The day wound down; the cooks were exhausted having prepared a restaurant quality belt loosening meal. We gave hugs and kisses, said our goodbyes and thank yous and piled back in the car headed to our other grandparents’ house.
Now, my father is one of 12 children. Grandma and grandpa never had to cook and were never short on company. Eleven of the their 12 had all relocated from Texas to Los Angeles. And...all 11 stopped in, brought food, ate or visited and most had two or three children. It was a lot, but Grandma was the calmest woman on earth. Everyone helped themselves to whatever they liked in the kitchen (we usually went for the sweets). Turkey sandwiches on white bread that stuck to the roof of our mouths were grabbed and enjoyed. We sat in amazement watching grandpa's nicotine stained fingers roll his own cigarettes. We'd visit until there was no room or we were falling asleep.
As we grew older, and moved to different cities and states, these memories sustained us. Those days and our parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles are gone.
We are so very lucky to have lived and loved in an era without cell phones or video games. We got to know our elders, we talked, we helped, and we learned manners and developed some social graces.
Memory lives in the spaces between conversations. In the lingering pause after a shared laugh. In the quiet moments when hands reach across the table, connecting generations. Thanksgiving isn't just a meal. It's a ritual of remembrance and presence.
Put down the devices and topics that divide us. Look up. See the faces around you, each one a universe of stories, struggles, and unspoken love. Listen beyond words. Catch the subtle languages of gesture, of shared history.
Family is not a moment, but a continuous act of choosing connection. Not every day can be Thanksgiving. But every day can carry its spirit of gratitude, of listening, of being truly present. From our family to yours, we wish you moments that transcend the ordinary. Moments that become memories.
Melanie I Becnel
On Thanksgiving, Tulane's football story took an unexpected turn. Despite being 14-point favorites against Memphis, Coach Jon Sumrall's pregame cautions proved prophetic. We did need to bring our "A" game. The Tigers defeated Tulane 34-24, puncturing the Green Wave's rising College Football Playoff hopes.
Throughout the season, Tulane has transformed from an underdog to a ranked contender. This loss, while disappointing, doesn't diminish a remarkable season of growth and excellence.
In the game's aftermath, gratitude emerged as my dominant emotion. Not for a loss, but for the journey:
- A new coaching staff that rebuilt team culture
- 54 new players joining a talented core who embodied dedication and potential
- A third consecutive AAC Championship appearance
- Another bowl game opportunity
- One of the best win-loss records in college football over the past three seasons
Thanksgiving reminds us to appreciate our experiences including the wins, the losses, and the people that come into and out of our lives.
Love this Melanie!
Great read!