<$BlogRSDUrl$>
Interstellar Adventure
Adventure: the pursuit of life — Daniel Roy Wiarda

« Home | *thud* » | Happy Veterans Day » | Thursday Thirteen, VII » | My Arch Nemesis » | The K-12 Meme » | Sunny and 86 » | The Half » | Genesis » | Divergence » | Thursday Thirteen, VI »

Memories

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Yesterday I was catching up over at Petroville. I was lazy this weekend (well, busy) and didn't do much bl*g-reading. MommaK is one of my favorite bloggers around, always super creative and all. Well, she had a bit of a shin-dig going on over the weekend, and had soapbox.SUPERSTAR filling in for her. My memories of Thanksgiving while growing up are some of my favorite. My mom was really close to my great-grandparents, and we were there all the time, or so it seemed. There was never any question about where we were going for Thanksgiving. My mom is one of five. Johnny, my mom, Judy, Bob & Paul. My mom and aunt are average-height. My uncles, on the other hand, are giants. 6'8", 6'9" and 6'6", respectively. And they ate like it too. They used to go through the line, piling food up on food until it was a mountain of a Thanksgiving feast on their plates. They'd finish off those plates, then they'd go back for more. I swear they had a contest one year to see who could eat the most plates of food. My great-grandmother was a little woman. Probably not any taller than 5'4". She had an ample waist and bosom, and when she chuckled, her entire chest would heave under the giggles. You could see the twinkle in her eye as she watched those boys eat. And the trash talk! You'd never heard such BS. The three brothers, always competing to see who was the fastest, strongest, best looking, most successful, etc. An outsider only overhearing a brief snippet of the conversation might wonder how the heck all three of them could stand being in each other's presence. But the love they have for each other runs deep. One year, when I was maybe in 7th grade, I was teasing my Uncle Bob about something. I can't remember how we got on the subject of it, but we decided to run a race. Our own personal Turkey Trot. I didn't run, so I don't know why this sounded like a good idea to me. But I was sure I could beat the old man. So, my dad went out an measured the course (in the car) while we got ready. The start/finish line was my great-grandparents driveway. We took off, and I had no doubt he would tire quickly. I don't think the course was more than a mile and a half. We stayed together, neck and neck the whole way. After about a mile, I thought he was really starting to hurt. I was sure I had him. I was getting a stitch in my side, but I thought I could hold on. We rounded the last corner, and he looked down at me and said 'See you later kid' and took off. His legs, twice as long as mine, taking strides four times as long as mine, churning down the road. I watched, devestated, as he beat me. I don't know why that was so important to me, but I cried. He felt bad. Now, we laugh about it. When he found out that I was training for my marathon, he said "Well, I'm not running any more Turkey Trots against you." I think I could take him now...

11/15/2005 08:27:00 AM :: ::
9 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home

InterstellarLass :: permalink