Giving Thanks

While there are other countries that have national days giving thanks for one or another features of life, America’s Thanksgiving seems to be unusual in its devotion to the consumption of large amounts of food on its day of thanks.

My favorite memory of Thanksgiving was launched when I was about 9 years old. My father, for his October birthday had received a small tape recorder, the old version with two reels of tape and a small microphone attached with a cord. The Thanksgiving feast that year was traditional, with a large turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and probably a mandarin orange Jell-O salad. Around the table were our neighbors, their child, my grandparents, all four of us children, and my mother and father. I and the men at the table were dressed in coats and tie; my sisters wore their Sunday best dresses.

In a secret act of mischief, my father had placed the tape recorder underneath the table, with the microphone hidden in the centerpiece. His idea was to record the conversation throughout the meal and then, in his notion of post-dinner entertainment, have all of us listen to the conversation.

So the meal proceeded. The food, as always was great. Spirits were high; fun was had by all. Old stories were retold. The generations exchanged their world views. Bonding was renewed.

It came time for my father’s reveal of his deceptive act. He confessed to his secret and pulled out the tape recorder and placed it on the table.

Well, it turned out the technology was not up to his intention. As the tape played, there were muffled voices overlapping one another. The overlapping conversations yielded a persistent garble. There was clearly human vocal interaction but most was incomprehensible.

Indeed, throughout the meal, only one voice was consistently understandable. It was the high pitched voice of my younger sister, the fourth of four siblings, then about 5 years old. Near the beginning of the meal, she said “Please pass the salt” in a very clear voice. Mumbled adult voices. A few minutes later, you hear the little voice “Please pass the salt” in a slightly louder voice. More mumbled adult voices. A few minutes later, “Please pass the salt”. This time a little softer. Mumble, mumble, mumble. “Please pass the salt.” By the end of the meal, there was no audio evidence that salt was ever provided to her.

As she became the heroine of the event, this was my first lesson in perseverance, grit, resilience, and, I guess, a salt-free diet.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!