My Worse Thanksgiving – EVER

My Worse Thanksgiving – EVER

Did I ever tell you about the very worse Thanksgiving I ever experienced in my fucked up life?

When my parents were still alive, Thanksgiving was at least a tolerable holiday. In the days of my youth, we would host the big holiday feast for the rest of our family of freeloaders, but once my folks moved to a retirement community in Toms River, New Jersey, and my sister and brother-in-law moved to Long Island, it was just Dad, Mom and me, either at their place or a restaurant where I’d treat them as the good son.

Now, my father was a quiet, unassuming kinda guy, my mother a psychotic bitch, and when he dropped dead just shy of his seventy-fifth birthday, I was bequeathed the distinct honor of dealing with Mommie Dearest undiluted.

One Thanksgiving, in my feeble attempt to keep the family together, I drove all the way to extreme northwest New Jersey where mother, without consulting either my sister or I, had moved to after my father’s death, and brought her to spend the night with me on Staten Island where I both lived and worked. In holiday traffic, NJ and SI might as well have been the North Pole and South Pole. The plan was for us to drive over the following morning – Thanksgiving Day – to my sister’s on Long Island, another marathon on the Long Island Expressway.

Yea, I know, I’m a masochist, and not just with sex.

But when my mother saw some light snow falling that holiday morning, she refused to budge, and my frustration in seeing my carefully orchestrated holiday plans go down the sewer reached the point of no return, and in a sudden fit of rage, I knocked this then seventy something woman to the floor.

She pretended in typical “I’m gonna make you feel real guilty, boy” Mom style to be injured – she wasn’t – and all I thought was how I, a senior health care executive, was going to be charged with elder abuse of his own mother. We later buried the hatchets and spent Thanksgiving as the old lady and her fag son in a local diner.

Mom’s been gone eleven years now, and while I have memories of her, both good and bad, that Thanksgiving will go down as the worst.

Guys and gals, have a Happy Turkey Day – talk to you Monday. More about my new book, “For The Love of Samuel” then.

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