Remembering my first Thanksgiving away from home is easy to do because I remember looking around a little strange table into faces I had never shared Thanksgiving Day dinner with before. All the faces were familiar and all the faces seemed to be enjoying themselves except for mine.

The reason my face did not look as pleased as it could have looked was not only due to sitting among faces I had never shared Thanksgiving dinner with before. A big part of my expression's problem had to do with the food spread across the table.

Thanksgiving Day dinner at home for me usually consisted of the biggest, best looking, golden cooked turkey anyone could care to lay their eyes on. The turkey flesh would always be moist - including the white meat. The stuffing was always homemade with my favorite stuffing ingredients.

Thanksgiving at home, always meant the best mashed potatoes, without skins, without lumps or chunks, mixed with the right amount of milk, butter, salt, and pepper and topped with the hottest golden brown gravy. The gravy would always have the best turkey flavor and the right amount of salt, pepper, and onions.

Thanksgiving at home always meant lots of peas and corn and cornbread and cranberry sauce - the smooth kind, and all the other delicious Thanksgiving foods I enjoyed. However, my first Thanksgiving away from home consisted of foods cooked in ways I was not accustomed. Although the foods were familiar their preparation left lots for me to desire.

My face was having a hard time smiling because my eyes were having a hard time smiling. Since my face and eyes were having difficulty looking as gay as the faces and eyes that had so kindly invited me to their Thanksgiving dinner, my stomach was having a hard time smiling.

All I could think was, 'If I eat that food, considering the way it is prepared, my destination will become Upchuck City, perhaps before I can leave this table and make it to the latrine.'

I sat at the table looking at the different dishes trying to discern which items I could manage the easiest. In the mean time, the household members were insisting I pile food on my plate. Telling me, "No wonder you're so skinny, you don't eat anything!"

Deciding I should at least be able to manage a bit of turkey, I took a slice of that, but passed on the gravy because I did not consume gravy covered with floating oil.

I took a dab of mashed potatoes but was not thrilled because I could not add gravy and un-smashed chunks hardened the potatoes.

I wanted to take some of the collard greens but watery oil surrounded them so I settled for a spoonful of undisturbed corn.

As I sat there picking at the food, I wondered how my family was enjoying their meal. I imagined my brother eating a turkey drumstick like a cave man. My thoughts tasted the mashed potatoes and gravy my mom cooked. My taste buds longed for the tangerines and bananas and sweet potato pie that always wound up Thanksgiving feasts at home. Although my imagination got me through the meal, I knew I would never again have Thanksgiving Day dinner away from home.

Learn more about this author, R. Renee Bembry.
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