When my son Asher was four and a half years old (ten years ago in the days leading up to Thanksgiving, we were discussing the upcoming holiday. We invited Nana and Papa for the festive meal. It was just going to be the seven of us. (Abram wasn’t born yet.)
Our family is vegetarian; Nana and Papa are not.
So, Rob and I thought it fair to discuss the possibility of Nana and Papa bring a turkey. What would Thanksgiving be (for turkey-eaters) without the traditional centerpiece?
(I’ll spare you all a strong and persuasive argument for the benefits to your health and to the planet by adopting a vegan diet. There’s something you can be thankful for tomorrow as you render the limbs from a carcass which more likely than not has fecal materi . . . .ooops. Never mind.)
I turned to Asher and said, “What would you think if Nanny and Papa brought a turkey for Thanksgiving?”
He smiled and said, “That would be ok.”
Then we began assuring him that there would be lots of broccoli, mashed potatoes and squash.
Asher’s face scrunched up.
Rob noticed. He said, “What is it?”
Asher looked up from his spaghetti and said, “You said Nanny and Papa are bring a turkey.”
“Right,” I confirmed.
His eyebrows shot up, along with his voice, when he said, “To eat?!?!?”
Needless to say, it was a vegetarian Thanksgiving. Nana and Papa were fine with that. Additionally, they got a pass on finding a turkey “to play with” on such short notice.