Flying Turkeys- Grae Chambers

The setting is Wincity Kentucky. 12:00 noon. On the last Thursday of November. A family sits around a decades old dining table not-so-patiently waiting for their lunch. Brothers argue over the result of football games. Dads drink their beers. The ladies of the family either stand around the kitchen eating left over candy corn or slaving away at a meal. I am one of the candy corn people. The second my grandma calls out " Dinners ready" this so called "patience" is broken. Kids scramble to be the first to pick up a plate, often elbowing each other out of the way. Once everyone sits down with their food and grace is said, the war, man vs. food, begins. Talking is scarce in these next 30 minutes as we all try and savor our meal as if it were our last. Pick up sweet potatoes; chew, swallow. Pick up mashed potatoes; chew, swallow. Pick up turkey; chew, swallow. Pick up roll;chew, swallow. You get the gist. After the meal we choose our yearly christmas ornament, and at least one grandchild breaks theirs before the end of the day. The other after meal activities often require little movement, and for me, it usually means taking a two hour nap. Around 5 we return to Lexvegas for dinner at my house, even though no one is hungry. We're greeted by my moms entire side of the family, who have been there for an hour without us. It takes me about 30 minutes to mentally prepare myself for my next meal, but the second I see the country ham my stomach seems to empty again. I become a prize fighter, ready for round two. This meal is even more of a battle. I'm often left alone at the end of the table, being the slowest eater in the family. After dinner, kids beg me to play with them but all I can bring myself to do is lay down. Thanksgiving-1 Grae-0. Every single year.