Thanksgiving on the Mantel : University of Dayton, Ohio

By Jase Graves

Now that Halloween is over and I’ve almost polished off that jumbo bag of snack-size Almond Joy bars that I “forgot” to distribute to trick-or-treaters, it’s time to start thinking about Thanksgiving.

And speaking of gorging on holiday fare, Thanksgiving is an occasion when Americans express our deep appreciation for our country’s blessings by eating most of them.

In preparation for this event, I like to adorn the house with a few decorations that remind my family of the historical significance of our celebration.

I start the Thanksgiving décor process by turning our large, ceramic Halloween jack-o’-lantern around backward because I’ve been assured by several Thanksgiving picture books I used to read to my three semi-grown daughters that pumpkins were present at the first Thanksgiving. I assume the Pilgrims and Native Americans used the pumpkins strictly for table decorations since Cool Whip hadn’t been invented yet.

Next, I make the death-defying climb into our attic to fetch a Rubbermaid tub containing the Thanksgiving décor that has been fermenting up there all year. And since temperatures in East Texas are often still summer-like when November begins, being in the attic gives me a taste of what it must be like for the turkey, once that weird giblet bag of innards and other horrors has been removed, and the bird is sweating profusely in the oven.

Speaking of turkeys, our décor includes several replicas of this iconic fowl in all sizes, shapes and functions. We have turkey salt and pepper shakers, turkey candle holders, and a turkey teapot, all depicting the male bird in his full plumage—like a teenage boy with a freshly-groomed mullet. I’ve always found it odd that most Thanksgiving displays are centered around a turkey in its “wild” unbasted form since most of us only appreciate it covered in gravy. If we’re being honest, our décor should actually include a fully-nude Butterball reclining seductively in a roasting pan.

Next are probably the most problematic decorative items in our Thanksgiving display—our Pilgrim and Native American figurines. I realize there is intense debate about the true nature of the “first Thanksgiving.” I also realize that the Pilgrim men weren’t really wearing all black with buckles on everything except their boxer briefs. And, no, the Native Americans probably weren’t smiling in eager anticipation of their next helping of Grandma Pilgrim’s deviled eggs. Despite the shameless anachronisms, I still think it’s important to honor the people who made Thanksgiving Day (and leftovers for the foreseeable future) possible for all of us.

I remember the third grade in the 1970s around Thanksgiving time studying a unit on Native Americans—when I wasn’t flirting with the girl who sat in front of me by cleverly offering to let her play with one of my extra Star Wars Stormtrooper action figures. As part of this unit, we were to design an authentic Native American tunic out of a paper grocery bag, and our teacher assigned each of us an official Native American nickname. My name was “Thunderbird,” and I couldn’t determine whether the moniker came from the fact that I talked too much in class or because of the noises I made after lunch.

Anyway, putting out these Thanksgiving decorations gets me in a festive holiday mood. They bring back fond memories of my childhood and especially that of my daughters—back in the good old days when they didn’t know what a credit card was and they all asked for pumpkin pie with extra Cool Whip, minus the pumpkin pie.

—Jase Graves

Jason (Jase) Graves is a national award-winning humor columnist, a married father of three daughters, a lifelong resident of Longview, Texas, and a Texas A&M Aggie. He writes about home and family issues from a humorous perspective for the Cagle Cartoons syndicate and his blog. Other than writing, his primary hobby is sleeping as late as possible. His winning Nickie’s Prize for Humor Writing essay, “The Sisterhood of the Giggling Rants,” is included in Sisters! Bonded by Love and Laughter, published by the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. His piece, “Victoria’s Worst-Kept Secret,” is included in Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Crazy Family.

Ever since I became a grandfather, and have proudly remained the most immature member of the family, I have often been asked if I spoil my grandchildren.

“No,” I always reply. “That’s my wife’s job. My job is to corrupt them.”

This makes me supremely qualified to be a grandparent coach.

Ever since I became a grandfather, and have proudly remained the most immature member of the family, I have often been asked if I spoil my grandchildren.

“No,” I always reply. “That’s my wife’s job. My job is to corrupt them.”

This makes me supremely qualified to be a grandparent coach.