This Thanksgiving I felt like Macaulay Culkin’s character in “Home Alone.” Only, I was left behind on purpose. It’s alright though, while my mom snapped pictures of the Arc de Triomphe, I stole her car, packed it with booze and friends and took it to the Black Eyed Peas concert. It’s only fair.
Traditionally, I don’t spend Thanksgiving with my mom anyway. I don’t know why that is. Maybe it’s because she always ends up crying all over the turkey – making it moist, but way too salty. Instead, I have dinner with my in-laws who chuck the turkey all together and serve honey ham and roasted pork with the most delicious congri rice. Which is perfect.
So, I travelled to Hialeah, my birth city, and chowed on all the parts of a pig dressed as a turkey, once again.
My mother-in-law made me pose for pictures, while my grandfather-in-law threatened to throw me in a pot and the Cowboys were playing, so my father-in-law just wanted me out of the way of the television. My grandmother-in-law was in the shower and missed the whole thing.
My grams-in-law misses out on a lot of things. Like reality. She is increasingly confused and forgetful, which makes me sad. We’ve always had a sort of contentious relationship and now that she’s frail I can’t properly banter with her about the petty things we would fight about, like not calling her abuela and why I don’t spend more time with her.
It’s true. Our biggest fights were about me not giving her enough kisses. And I, instead of puckering up, would run and hide in the bathroom until she went away.
After dinner, I sat across my nemesis and chatted her up – being cautious not to upset her or end up upset myself. Surprisingly, I found her charming and delightful. She was formulating thoughts that made sense and remembered a story from when we first met. And, for a small moment, I thought she was better. But that hope disappeared when I noticed she had forgotten to put on underwear.
Perhaps this could be the new thing we fight about.