It is an easy call. In my family, I am the one who would be banned from Thanksgiving dinner. With a wife, daughter and two college aged grand-daughters what chance do I have, being a politically incorrect, patriotic, conservative leaning, straight, white, southern male who refuses to help cook the derned bird? (Although I will clean up after, single-handed if necessary.)

But to their dismay I am right there every year, beer in hand in front of the ballgame, as far away as is possible from the kitchen and it’s matriarchal man-bashing.

Because hell, someone has to pay for it all.

It was one of those rare occasions when the air conditioning was on.

It was the last occasion when we were all there.

My great-grandmother's house was built by my great-grandfather. Legend goes he did a lot of the bricklaying himself back in '38. He'd done his time in the Navy during the first big war, so he sat that next one out.

Like so many other old Southern homes, this one had a living room and a den. Everybody always watched TV and visited in the den; the living room was for fancier furniture and holidays. The dining room was part of that parlor, and held that side of the house's only air conditioner. It was an old Sears window unit that managed to stave off unseasonable heat. Some Christmases, it was actually needed.

This gathering was a birthday, though. My great grandmother and I were born a day apart in early October, and it was tradition that we'd celebrate on the Sunday closest to our shared dates.

Nothing in that house had changed for decades. The air conditioner was a concession made at the insistence of family; sometime in the late seventies, the unit was gifted to my great-grandparents.

On this last gathering of the entire family, my grandmother gave me an unexpected gift.

I tore away the Sunday comics section (I waved away apologies for not using actual wrapping paper) to reveal a sleek black Cobra Nightraven.

On that day, I had no way of knowing she didn't wrap the gift because she was too tired.

On that day, I had no way of knowing that she'd be gone about fourteen days later.

That sleek black jet assumed a place of reverence in my room, in every room since. It never suffered the same abuses, it never fought in those imaginary battles that other G.I. Joe figures endured.

What relative do I want to ban from Thanksgiving? Can we claim the Reaper as a handsy step-uncle from out of state? If so, that's the one I'd vote off the island, he's the weakest link, let's enjoy our time without him.

But he is inevitable.

My mother and I are the only ones left from that Sunday so long ago, and I wish I had a gift from her to sit on the shelf next to that cherished toy from yesteryear.

That stupid jet from Hasbro remains the last thing given to me by a woman we still mourn every holiday season.

In the meantime, I'll treat each holiday like it's our last.

I'm not sure actually.

Really, I have an interesting perspective on this.

Most of my family are Democrats, Feminists, the whole nine yards.

I was raised the same way.

Went to a liberal college, made liberal friends.

But when I got out of the bubble of fantasy that is the American University

I had a bit of an awakening.

There's an old saying, that goes something like...

A Republican is a Democrat who got mugged by reality.

So I got woke, from the dream of leftism.

It wasn't so much that I preferred Republicans

It was that I suddenly saw....everywhere

How the Democrat mindset was ruining

Everything.

As a result, I now see the majority of my family as lost and brainwashed

Immature children

Who live in a fantasy

Yet they seem to see me in the same way.

Which, for obvious reasons can make it hard to relate to one another.

So....really

They would be the ones to not invite me to Thanksgiving

Though they still do

Really it is I, who declines

I'm the one who doesn't "invite" them

Instead I visit my extended family,

Who aren't constantly virtue-signaling, or calling things racist and sexist.

People who understand the pain of life, and don't shy away from it.

They are unpretentious, honest...

And they live here and now.

Not in some apocalyptic future

Or some shameful past.

I'm thankful for that.

Happy Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving in my family feels a lot like a circus freakshow you don't have to pay admission to. You won't find a family with more felonies, divorces, children conceived as a result of a, "Well, I don't know I was too drunk to remember" situation, or with more working knowledge of schedule 1 drugs than my family. So, picking THAT relative is difficult in my clan. However, there are certain mechanisms in place that limit the number of people who can attend one of my family's Thanksgivings. These mechanisms include:

1. Incarceration: More than one chair at my family's turkey day table is empty due to an aunt, uncle, or cousin receiving a most insistent invitation to spend the holiday at one of California's various correctional facilities.

2. House Arrest: It's not unusual for parole or probation to generously give one or more of my family members a fashionable, court ordered, ankle bracelet. Unfortunately, though the bracelets are an elegant and functional black appropriate for any occasion, my grandma's house was usually just outside of the bracelet's programed range.

3. Restraining Order: Some of my family members just seem to viciously rub each other the wrong way. Of course the friction caused by this angry rubbing needs to be addressed by the appropriate safety measures. The safety tool of choice in these too frequent occurrences in my family is a nice, cool, restraining order. Without the extinguishing effect of a well written restraining order, the friction between my family members could spark a fire which within minutes would set a good portion of Santa Clara, California ablaze.

4. Inner Family Debt: One family member owes another family member money (where the loaned money originated from is best left a mystery). As one can imagine, a confrontation with the holder of the debt would be both uncomfortable and potentially hazardous to the health of the poor schmuck who owes the money. The absence of the deadbeat during Thanksgiving dinner is questioned only once. When the word, "Money" is said in reply, the situation becomes completely understood.

Okay, so with the potential Thanksgiving guest list whittled down courtesy of California's penal system and familial fiscal irresponsibility, we can now answer the challenge question. The answer is simple. It could be anyone. There isn't a member of my family who isn't capable of taking a chainsaw-like attitude to the current limbs of my family tree thus pruning any possible joy away from the gathering. So, where does the ill will come from? That to deserves some analysis which I have provided:

A) History Raises its Ugly Head: Now, it's no secret that the majority of my aunts, uncles and cousins have cooked their brains to a charred well-done with recreational pharmaceuticals. As a result, most of my family probably couldn't tell you where their own nipples are standing naked in a snow storm. However, the one area of the brain that remains completely functional in spite of being soaked in various narcotics is the center of the brain that remembers old grudges. This amazing recall gets even more laser focused when a little alcohol gets involved. So, at some point, a slightly tipsy aunt will remind a sister that she fucked sister's high school boyfriend in the Wilcox High School's shower room. The resulting explosion and the aftershocks that follow can often be felt as far as Canada.

Side note: It is well known by the children of the two combating sisters described above that their mom's names and phone numbers are prominently displayed on all of the inside stall doors in every boys bathroom at Wilcox High School to this very day. Oh, we don't consider our mom's as former high school sluts, instead, we think of them as legends in their own time.

B) The Social Lubricant and Opportunity to Learn Your Miranda Rights: Now, there is a lot that can be said about age and experience. However, there is also a lot to be said about still having a functional liver and alcoholism on training wheels! Now, mom and Aunt Jennifer may be ready to start throwing right hooks at each other (unbeknownst to them the high school boyfriend at the center of their argument was also fucking their eldest sister), but the younger generation attending the Thanksgiving celebration wants in on the fighting too. So, cousins happily get hammered (one abstaining so he is sober enough to bail mom and Aunt Jennifer out of Jail later) before grandma breaks out the pumpkin and cherry pie.

Realizing this is going to be another ONE OF THOSE THANKSGIVINGS, grandma wonders if she should release a guest list to the Santa Clara Police Department prior to dinner next year. It would allow them to cross reference guest names with assigned parole and probation officers and also connect any outstanding warrants to the guest before Thanksgiving arrives. After all, they're always so polite when they put one of her children or grandchildren in the back of the cruiser. It'll make their jobs so much easier, besides, it's Thanksgiving and the men and women and blue are away from their families so that they can tase, cuff, and stuff one of her family into a police car.

C) AA Chips and Dip: Now, I must give a shout out to those relatives who've achieved sobriety in my family. They've proven that clean and sober can be done. Even more impressive is that they can also walk away from one of our family gatherings and remain sober, which is a FUCKING MIRACLE! Oh, they can cause trouble too, but it's usually because someone brings up an old beef or a story from the glory days when they were still using to see if they can be tempted to slip. Some will just be dicks and drink in front of them. So if the AA crowd at grandma's Thanksgiving throw down you can guarantee it's justified. Coincidentally, this is the group I used to hang out with at Thanksgiving. I knew my wallet wouldn't come up missing there and my girlfriend wouldn't be offered a quicky by one of my cousins in the guest bedroom.

So, to answer the question in simple terms, Thanksgiving at my grandma's was a lot like trying to navigate a mine field, blindfolded, on a pogo stick. Any one of us could make the meal slow torture because, well to be honest, we were all a bunch of fuck ups. Some were just better at hiding it.

Writers Note:

The grandma noted here was my favorite person on the planet. She raised 4 children by herself after her husband committed suicide (she was pregnant with child number 4 when he died). The issues her kids had/have can be blamed on genetics and the fact that she worked 3 jobs to keep a roof over their heads. By the way, she obtained a mortgage and bought that house by herself in a time when women didn't regularly buy houses without a husband.

Grandma's biggest regret was the road her children and grandchildren would choose to follow, but it's hard to catch your kids doing drugs/playing back seat Barbie when you're working and never home. She also raised 1 grandchild because his mom loved heroin more than him. Finally, she contracted a disease that a grandma had no business catching while working in house keeping at a hospital. A misplaced needle in a trash bag changed out lives forever. Finally, when she was given the diagnosis and a prognosis of 2 years to live she told the doctor, "You're not God. We'll just see." That was 1994. She survived to see my children born 2006, 2009, and 2011 saying fuck all to that doctor's 2 year estimate. Sadly, she passed before my littlest guy came into the world, but I know wherever she is she's laughing at his silly dances and his delight in saying, "BOOTY" every chance he gets.

Love you grandma. I won't be attending any family Thanksgiving dinners until it' with you again.

When you're a woman, there's three things you need to bring to Thanksgiving: an engagement ring, a low body weight, and a good career resume. That's it! If you have all three, you will avoid Aunt Maud. If not, she will find you and access the damage.

Damage? If there's no ring, who betrayed you? Because, in order to not have a ring, you obviously *tried*. Right?

Pick your adventure:

You don't have an engagement ring.

Aunt Maud asks:

What happened? I thought you had a boyfriend. (She doesn't actually know if you did, she's phishing for information.)

You: Don't have a boyfriend.

Your adventure: "Aunt Maud, we've talked about this. I don't have a boyfriend because it's SO hard to find someone these days."

This is accurate, true, and true to who you are WITHOUT compromising your integrity.

You: win.

Your adventure, take two: You HAVE a boyfriend.

"Aunt Maud, we've talked about this. I have a boyfriend, but we only met two years ago, and it's going really well. We'll get engaged eventually."

DING DING DING

Aunt Maud walks away, you've won this round!

Pick your adventure: You're underweight / average weight / overweight

Underweight: "Aunt Maud, thank you for your concern. I don't feel the need to explain my weight to a relative I see once a year, but thank you for expressing yourself."

DING DING DING she walks away!

Average weight: "Aunt Maud, I noticed you didn't ask me about my weight this year. Is everything ok?"

Just kidding. Aunt Maud didn't ask you anything because of your average weight. You adventure continues below at "career resume."

Overweight: "Aunt Maud, thank you for your concern. I don't feel the need to explain my weight to a relative I see once a year, but thank you for expressing yourself."

Only one DING, because Aunt Maud walks away, but you didn't adequately diminish yourself. She's not impressed. But YOU are. So take the win.

Here's the Career Resume portion of our program:

Aunt Maud asks, "What are you doing these days for work?"

Read: Innocent question, potential for horrible, judgemental outcome.

"Aunt Maud, thank you for asking. I'm Apple's newest CEO."

No other explanation is necessary. You don't need details, backup, anything. You can successfully walk away. Congratulations, now go buy some stock and get some stuffing.

"Aunt Maud, thank you for asking. I'm between opportunities."

Sirens. Aunt Maud takes a swig of her wine. She is "dying" to know why.

"Aunt Maud, I am exploring my options and would like some space to do so, and in time, I will have a job offer."

More swigging of wine. She is DYING to know what you're hiding.

And that's the point of Thanksgiving, isn't it?

What are you relatives hiding?

Will Aunt Maud discover who you REALLY are?

Food

piled like

dishes in layers

until claims

of weight loss

are doubted

seconds and thirds

until all bones

are licked clean

biscuits half eaten

rudely

sampled buttery flesh

a crime

scene of edible

nothingness

a ribcage

picked over like

vultures on the highway

a carcass

left for someone else

to clean up

There is this one girl in our family. She has the most beautiful brown eyes and brown hair, as she is told by the whole family. The girl was different from the rest. Different that made the whole family against her. She always wanted to cut her hair, beautifully long brown hair that did not suit her mind. She was never once allowed, not even a little trim. People always complimented her slim figure, the figure she hated, people wanted her to be a model, she wanted to become an author. Everyone had these high expectations for her, but over the years she started seeing her true self. She knew her family's strong beliefs, so, she masked her true feelings. Saying thank you to the compliments that made her insecure, smiling when she knew her one dream could never come true. This made her angry, at anyone. Anger just wanting acceptance. Though, don't they all? Going on her phone made her more and more depressed, seeing how other teens were living her dream. She was yearning for a new life... university will be her ticket out, though she needs to finish two more years of high school first. She lies awake each night thinking what her family would think if she actually followed her dream, they would certainly disown her. Would her mom ever look at her the same? What would happen to the close bond she had with her cousin's and Aunties? What about her grandparents? There were so many questions, too many. Too many for her to go through alone. The amount of 'what ifs' were draining her energy, why was this so hard? She just wanted to be normal and loved. Can she not be given that?

I know all of this because I am her, and that 'her' is him.

Uncle Jersey M. Moore.

Some words to describe him:

Loud.

Blunt.

Realist.

He has NO patience.

Uncle Jersey is apparently allergic to my mother's stuffing. He should be glad thought. My mother is not the best cook.

Enjoys his drinks a little too much.

Lets be safe.

I honestly wish I could ban all of them, or better yet, ban myself so I don't have to see them. But there is one man, who never has any good moments.

RON. By extension, his wife and their horrible daughter. They are luckily not blood related to me, and I am thankful for that.

His wife (vaguely manipulate and hates my mom because she thinks my mom hates her) is tolerable sometimes.

Their daughter (homophobic, snotty, and was mean to her dog when younger) is worse, but I can ignore her and walk into the other room.

BUT RONALD (Racist, anti-vaccine, homophobic, more I can't recall at the moment, and if I ask my parents my dad will go into a rant about how much he hates Ron) is irredeemable.

All I want for Thanksgiving this year is to stay home.