Thanksgiving is behind us now, but just barely. I was thinking this past holiday weekend about my paternal grandparents. When I was growing up, we spent more time with my mother’s parents than my father’s, but we often did spend Thanksgiving with my paternal grandparents.
As a small child, I remember visiting them, first in their home in Seattle when I was very young. About the time I started school, they moved to Vancouver, Washington.
My paternal grandparents smoked, and I recall the smell that permeated their home. I didn’t necessarily find it unpleasant, as most non-smokers do now, because so many places were smoke-filled in those days—homes, offices, restaurants. It was hard to get away from the odor of tobacco.
When we stayed at my paternal grandparents’ home, I often slept on the living room couch. In my younger years, the grown-ups pushed a chair against the couch so I wouldn’t fall off.
My grandmother didn’t sleep well, and she would often get up in the middle of the night to smoke a cigarette. I can remember waking up on the couch and seeing her in her chair nearby, one leg tucked up under her (the same way I frequently sit now) and a red glow at the tip of her cigarette.
I look more like my paternal grandmother than any of my other grandparents. In fact, in my forties, when I glanced in the mirror, I sometimes saw her face instead of my own. It doesn’t happen as much anymore, though I probably look even more like her now. I’m just getting used to seeing myself grow older.
But back to Thanksgivings. Sometimes, my paternal grandparents came to our house from their home in Vancouver for the holiday. Here is a picture of one such Thanksgiving:
Thanksgiving dinner in my parents’ dining room, circa 1968. My father is not in this picture, because he took it. Most of us were not caught at our best moment.
This was taken in my parents’ home. My youngest brother is a toddler, so this photo is probably from Thanksgiving Day 1968, though it is possible it is 1969. I switched from blue-framed glasses to brown-framed sometime in the 1968-69 school year, but it could well have been after Thanksgiving.
My mother’s turkey and Pilgrim table decorations.
We often had turkey and mashed potatoes for Christmas as well as Thanksgiving. But I know this is a Thanksgiving photo because of the table decorations. My mother only brought out the turkeys and Pilgrims for Thanksgiving.
I have no specific memories of this Thanksgiving, only the generalities of how we celebrated in those years. My father did the turkey and dressing, my mother did the rest of the meal. I had no role in the preparations, other than to set the table and to help dry the china and silver when the feast was over.
What do you remember about family Thanksgivings? Or did you make new memories this year?
