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A little something on it

December 4, 2013 - Pam Rodgers

I believe I have blogged about my family’s large Thanksgiving almost every year. It’s easy to do because no year is exactly the same. Last year we had the most people around the same table at 35. This year that number was down to only 28, as if that’s more reasonable.

Our big family Thanksgiving is a wonderful tradition. This year I got to sit next to my cousin Roman, or The Reverend as he is known at dinner time. He’s not actually a minister. Those who know him would laugh at the notion. But Roman has been willing to give the blessing before we all dig in. Once he utters the words “Good God let’s eat,” the passing frenzy begins.

One thing that is never passed around are the bowls of dinner rolls. That would prevent the real fun of tossing them down the table at ... I mean to your relatives. Of course, they have to call for one first. There’s no need to start an unnecessary food fight and upset Grandma.

I had the delight of choosing a seat directly in front of one of these bowls. My Uncle Mitch, and Roman’s dad (that’s important later), called upon me to get him a roll. Years of softball made the task an easy one. Timing was off though. As I picked up the roll to throw to him, my aunt was placing a dish of some kind on his side of the table. I stopped my throw and waited until the dish was placed and my aunt moved to complete the toss.

Thinking Mitch was still ready for the roll, I sent the bun flying in his direction. Sometimes I forget my throws are a little faster than the normal. I’m not bragging; it’s simply the truth. I have to remember to take a little off the throw. Well, the distraction destroyed any of my mental velocity calculations.

Once I released the roll, I knew it had a little something on it, far more than I had intended. Mitch would be able to handle it no problem, but other factors were at play. The biggest being my uncle was still momentarily distracted by the new food item in front of him.

What happened in the next second seemed to be in slow motion. The bun is hurtling toward my uncle, with plenty of speed and distance. He is looking down, but a quick word of warning causes him to look up at the right moment.

Not quite fast enough, the bun connects with his forehead as his hand reaches to trap it before falling to the ground, or worse into the gravy. The table laughs at the event that has transpired. Roman congratulates me on my aim. Then the next person wants a roll, and the humorous moment comes to an end.

We all turn back to the mountains of food in front of us, trying to figure out if we really “cut back” this year. Yep, there’s never a dull moment at the Thanksgiving table.

 
 

 

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