When my first friend and I were in 7th or 8th grade her dad passed away.
It made a huge impact on our family because they lived 5 houses away and our folks were the best of friends. As a matter of fact, the first time I ever heard my dad cry was through the bedroom walls when he phoned another friend to tell him the news.
What in the world does this have to do with being thankful?
I am thankful for something that started as a result of the loss of Mr. M.
Oh, we all wished he hadn’t died so young!
But a wonderful tradition began.
The M family of 3 and our tiny little family of 4 started sharing holiday meals. My mom hated cooking and entertaining people for any type of dinner gathering was NOT on her short or long list of fun things to do. However, the M family and our family had no relatives nearby. I don’t know how it all got started.
Every Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter we shared a meal. We alternated houses.
Out came the silver to be polished for its once or twice a year performance.
Special dishes were placed on the table. Mounds of food were prepared because, after all, you wouldn’t want 7 already very well fed people starving to death on a holiday. We squeezed around the table in our tiny kitchens and a celebration was born.
There was laughter.
Sometimes tears because our group was incomplete.
It FELT special even though these were the same people we saw or spoke with every day. We all helped with clean up. Come to think of it, my dad was the only testosterone representative in the group but he didn’t mind.
The adults enjoyed an adult beverage while the kids went off to another room to
bicker play games. I have memories of a few of the neighbors stopping by as well.
When MOMD started hanging around he became part of the group. Eventually my folks moved south and were not around for all of the holidays. One of the M girls moved far away and wasn’t always able to come home.
The tradition continued until we moved south as well. MOMD and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. As a matter of fact I have a picture of MOMD and our oldest son sprawled on the couch at Mrs. M’s in an apparent food coma.
Do you have a holiday story you would like to share? Feel free to leave a comment below.