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Since I was born, I’ve always had Thanksgiving dinner with my Dad’s side of the family because I have a cousin who is my age and another older cousin on his side. Growing up, my cousin Ellen was my best friend and we did everything together - like tie an aunt’s shoelaces together under the table and put olives on my fingers. My aunt Sharon still puts huge black olives out on the table in acknowledgment of my olive-fingered days.
My grandma hosted the dinners, compelete with her marshmallow covered yams and her trademark china. When she passed away ten years ago, Aunt Sharon took up hosting duties - a huge undertaking that I respect very much because it’s about 14 people, and sometimes in laws are added to the roster. It’s a big dinner sometimes with three turkeys and tons of sides.
Being a vegetarian, it’s often hard to get things made so I can eat them - meaning stuffing with no giblets or things like that. At Sharon’s, they’ve had to accommodate me since before I knew I was being accommodated: “What do you mean everyone doesn’t get their own special casserole dish with stuffing?” I appreciate this more than I can express because it’s not just Sharon who does it, but my cousins who also accommodate my food no-nos.
This year, I’m pretty sure we’ll be heading to Mr. Kiwi’s side for Thanksgiving, which is nice because it is his turn, but that leaves me a little wistful. It’s different when you have to be accommodated by someone else’s family, even if they are going to be your family as well soon. Mr. Kiwi’s family has a special stuffing made with bacon and water chestnuts. I don’t like water chestnuts and I can’t eat bacon. There’s another side dish that involves onions… I don’t like onions. I am afraid of being dubbed high maintenance if I ask for special stuffing, because it would be that- special.
Whenever we eat with his family, I always feel like a burden with all my special needs - ones that no one else needs to follow. While I would love to go to Sharon’s for Thanksgiving every year, I know I can’t. It feels like an end to something, a growing up of sorts, and now we must share the holidays with families that aren’t just our own. I must learn to accommodate others and not just myself; after all, I may host my own dinner someday.
It’s going to be hard going somewhere else, not eating off grandma’s plates, not being able to just walk into the kitchen and grab a drink, and saddest of all, not having olives put out just for me.
How do you guys work the holidays? How do you decide where to go?
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