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November 28, 2005
The turkey carcass
is in the pot…with onion, hominy and hot sauce. Soup is on the way.
This year, around
the table, we were five generations, from 2 to 82. Twin toddlers
climbed into and out of every lap in the room, not counting the times
they were carried around by cousins and tripped over by kitchen
cooks.
Stirring the soup,
I reflect on the last eighty years, a time our two-year-olds will have
to read about in their freshman history books. It’s easy to mark the
cultural changes in the lives of people around the dinner table.
Half of the family
arrived by plane this year. Years ago, when my own grandmother came
for Thanksgiving, I remember waiting for her at one of the only four
gates at the sole Phoenix terminal.
Back then, workers
pushed a rolling staircase up to the airplane, the plane door opened,
and travelers climbed down the stairs, exposed to the weather—rain,
shine, or sleet—and across the asphalt runway into the terminal. I
would stand on my tiptoes, watching for Grandma’s fancy hat with the
pheasant feather. Like everyone who flew in the 60’s, she dressed to
kill in her Sunday best.
Only forty years
later, we have four terminals and countless gates at Sky Harbor
International Airport. Travelers now step out of the 747 directly
into the comfort-controlled terminal. And seasoned travelers long ago
gave up their Sunday best in favor of comfortable jeans and running
shoes. Forget fancy hats with feathers.
A Thanksgiving
feast had to have been unimaginably special to my grandmother who
remembered her small town canning food in the school basketball gym
during the Great Depression. If you wanted stuffing in the 30s, you
made it by scratch, with dried bread carefully saved over the previous
month. No prepackaged stuffing mix or heat and serve dinner rolls.
Worse yet, no stores were open for the cook who forgot to buy
cranberry sauce.
Back then, after
dinner, Grandma told us how they would entertain each other in the
parlor. As a kid, she did a great Bug Dance, her mom played the
piano, and everyone in the family took turns reading stories out
loud.
Today we huddle
around the large, flat screen, surround-sound television for
Thanksgiving football. If you blink, we have instant replay…from four
different camera angles. And for viewers who need a “trip down the
hall,” Tivo will let them back up to any Hail Mary pass reception they
missed while gone.
How can any child
today ever truly understand the magic of a clunky black and white
television console first introduced in the 50s and the four national
stations that went dark after 9:00 p.m.? Tic tack toe has given way
to Game Boy. Pencils are mechanical. Running shoes now come with
lights, buzzers and wheels. And fancy hats with feathers are crushed
in the corner of a dirty thrift store…or rented out by costume
stores.
From 2 to 82, at
Thanksgiving this year, we evidence the cultural changes already
accomplished. And we guess at coming changes we will never live to
see. What will our country be like when the twin toddlers turn grey
and squint to focus through 2.25 reading glasses?
Will stores deliver
pre-cooked turkeys ordered online from cell phones? Will viewers
interact with football teams through wall mural televisions? Will
running shoes with wheels be jet powered?
More to the point,
what will the crowd around the table look like in another 80 years?
Will brothers pass the gravy to their clones? Will everyone be 5 foot
eight inches tall, thanks to gene selection...an essential way to
match the competition in job interviews where physical appearance is
more important than resume experience? Will children with harelips
even exist, when elimination of “imperfect” babies is mandated by
insurance companies who set medical protocols to keep costs down?
And at the center
of it all, what will our families look like? This current generation
of toddlers now is growing up predominately in homes without fathers.
In four more generations of unwed teen pregnancy, will people even be
able to imagine a time long ago when mothers and fathers were married
for a lifetime and babies were bounced on the knees of Grams and
Gramps at their fiftieth wedding anniversary?
This year’s
turkey is gone. It’s in the pot. And there’s a lot to think about as
I stir the soup.
September 3, 2004 -
We're Not in Kansas Anymore
May 14, 2004 -
Order in the Courtroom!
See Archives
for more past editorials.
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