Ten Years Between Meals

It’s been ten years. The first Thanksgiving without my grandmother happened ten years ago. That’s why this year was special to me. See, this is the first year I’ve cooked Thanksgiving dinner. Sure, it was only for two people, but I did it nonetheless.  The Thanksgiving before my grandmother passed was the first Thanksgiving I cooked on my own. I vaguely remember the meal, but it mimicked what my professor fixed during my second year at Howard University. Albeit a vegetarian version.

This particular year sticks in my mind like a thorn in one’s foot. Aside from the fact that it was the last Thanksgiving with my grandmother, it was also a time I acted selfishly. My grandmother was extremely proud of her grandson making the trip to Dallas, buying the food, and then cooking it himself. Our family hadn’t had a proper Thanksgiving in years. It would be a tradition I remember for the rest of my life, but never have again. 

As a child, we had family, friends, and neighbors over at the house. We had enough food to feed the whole neighborhood, but it wasn’t reflective with regards to the way we lived. The fact is, we were poor. But this one time, this was the one time we had the chance to do for others. Church members would stop by. We’d have ham, duck, turkey, giblet gravy, corn bread, cabbage, black-eyed peas,  sweet potatoes, and a host of other items. I used to stay in the kitchen cooking with my grandmother during that time.

Other people would bring food, too. After all, this was a big affair! Going over to other people’s houses and eating even more food was part of the day. But to me, nothing was better than my grandmother’s cooking. However, as she got older, the tradition died down. Her friends passed as they got older. My mother’s mental health had gotten a lot worse. Soon, we were spending our Thanksgivings at a shelter or getting what plates people brought by for us, and we spent it sitting in front of the television.

That’s what made the Thanksgiving even more important to me, as I cooked it. I wanted to rekindle a tradition that had long been forgotten in my family. But I felt like I ruined it. I was in college. I didn’t have a job outside of the part-time work I did on work-study.  So I only had enough money to buy stuff for our small family. So I was a bit surprised to see my grandmother had invited one of her friends. This lady, whom she had invited, was a very dear friend of the family. Maggie, I would always remember her as. My grandmother did so because she was proud of her grandson and wanted to show off what I was doing.

Even now, thinking back to that time hurts. Like holding your hand over a fire and watching your skin blister and feeling the pain before finally removing it. I was young, and I was only thinking about myself when I left out the back door that day after I finished cooking the food. I didn’t think that maybe Maggie didn’t have anyone else to spend Thanksgiving with. I didn’t think that my grandmother was doing exactly what she had taught me all of my life, to look after and care for others. I never thought…

The last chance I had to have Thanksgiving with my family, I missed it. And from that time on, I never cooked one again, nor did I come back to Texas for Thanksgiving. It has taken many years for me to talk about that day. It’s a day I had filled with regret and disappointment. 

That’s why this year is special. It was a time for me to come to terms with what happened ten years ago. It was a time of reflection for me. It was a time for me to accept what happened and honor my grandmother’s memory. It was a time in which I finally took a step forward and stopped dwelling in the past. The fare was simple: a turkey breast, mashed sweet potatoes, green beans, dressing, and macaroni and cheese.