In the beginning of November of 1988, I was twenty-two, I had been thrown out of my place for the umpteenth time and I drove over to my dad’s place to crash, only to have him tell me that wife number two had left Halloween night and hadn’t returned.
Over the next few days I cleaned out all my stuff from Mom’s, and lugged it over to Dad’s. The next few weeks were spent getting used to two half-sisters I didn’t know and a handful of animals that loved to crap right outside my bedroom door, making the morning trips to the bathroom a frickin’ nightmare on my socks.
Thanksgiving morning came around and my Dad said, “Let’s make turkey dinner, just you and me, no women this year.” Sounded great, but neither of us had ever undertaken such a task. Dad went grocery shopping and came home with all the fixings. Now, the cooking. We gutted the turkey and put it on a metal cooking pan, and the damn thing flopped open, spilling the stuffing, we look at each other and let out a “What the?” Then I remember seeing strings on turkeys at the relatives. So, I tell my dad, we need string to wrap up this loose bird. He runs to the tool shed and brought out some twine, and we tied this ten-pound sucker up, and put him in the oven.
Twenty minutes later we opened the oven, and the twine had burnt off. So, we pull the bad-boy out and try to figure out our next move.
My Dad took off for the tool shed again and came back with a hammer and nails, I’m stumped. He told me to hold the turkey, and he started hammering the wings into the body and we spun the bird around a few times, and he kept hammering from every angle. By the time he’s done the bird is sealed tight. We popped the turkey back in and finish cooking.
For the rest of his years, dad would swear it was a great tasting turkey. In his later years he would buy a Louisiana deep fryer and make restaurant quality turkeys.
Whenever I think of my dad, I think of this Spider-Man comic book I read years ago. In the book Spider-Man goes off saving the universe with Doctor Strange, it happens to be Spider-Man’s birthday and he’s annoyed no one remembers, and that he has to work. They save the world and Doctor Strange said he didn’t forget his birthday, and brings back his Uncle Ben from the dead for fifteen minutes. So, Spider-Man is scrambling to figure what he wants to say or do in those fifteen minutes. Makes me think, around the holidays, did I say everything I wanted to say, and what would I do with my fifteen minutes?
Of all my Thanksgivings, that one with my dad was the most memorable.
– Last One To Die, 2011