Robert McDonnell

Thanksgiving Dinner

Smells of an array of pies teasing my senses,
As I walk into the kitchen I feel the heat of two ovens, steadily cooking our tender roast and
        sweet pies, were heating the cramped cooking space dramatically.
The steaming pot of boiling potato chunks were soon to be pulverized into mashed potatoes,
I watch as my dad tenderly and thoroughly cleans the potatoes, as if they were his prized
        possession.
Then, he betrays them by scraping the tough skin off, exposing the sweet meat of the
        vegetable
He chops and dices them with such focused precision.
I turn my gaze to my mom, who is frantically setting the table with napkins a shade of green
        that can only be achieved after many years of aging in a dusty little drawer.
She insists that I help her in these duties.
I set the table with an almost obsessive precision that is only achieved with a focused
        fastidiousness,
Fork on the left, knife on the right, also on the right is the spoon, lastly a napkin under the
        newly placed knife and spoon,
After I finish the placement of the silverware, my mom tenderly places the ‘Special
        Occasion’ plates at each seat with the matching bowls,
These plates have a delicate, navy blue wave - like design printed around the exterior.
The time passes quickly while I work,
I sat at the dinner table with all four members of my family, my dad at the left end my mom
        at the right end.
They remind me of a king and queen at the royal table; my sister and I accompany them as
        their loyal subjects.
My dad skips grace, but makes a lengthy speech about how lucky we are to live the kind of
        life we lead.
We disregard this prolonged sermon, eyeing the generous platters of food while he continues
        to ramble, but,
Detecting our impatience, he concludes his lecture thereby allowing us to engorge ourselves
        with the abundance of food in front of us.





[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2009 EDITION]


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