Tradition is a Funny Creature

I would venture to say, without any evidence to back the claim, that most families have Thanksgiving traditions. Decades ago, my family had a poem that we would read before circling the table for each person to name something for which he or she was thankful. That tradition fell out of favor when we children realized what a sham it was to pick one day of the year to search our brains for a feeling of being blessed. It just didn't work any more.

So last year, on Thanksgiving, we started a new tradition. It couldn't be considered a tradition until it had been repeated at least once, but after last night's celebratory events, the verdict is in. We have a new tradition.

This exciting new tradition involves me, my siblings, crystal wine glasses, and several bottles of champagne. We, the children, personally consumed three bottles of Gran Spumante, probably half a bottle of some red wine (I would know the name, but I hate red wine so I don't care), and half a bottle of Riesling Relax (a nice white wine) while the parents weren't looking. . . and while they were.

Then, feeling a little tipsy, we played pool. And, as always happens when I drink around my mother's husband, I just had to make that one little verbal jab--that one line that says, "I fuckin' hate you, but I won't tell you unless I'm drunk." Last night, he was trying to tell me how to take my shot for nine-ball. I just couldn't resist the temptation, couldn't stop myself from saying, "Believe it or not, Garey, I'm not incompetent." And the tone was so excellent. It was that scolding mother's tone. It was perfect. I wish I had it on tape.

Meanwhile, my mother and the other women were upstairs doing dishes and cleaning up. I was most amused by the realization that I'm just one of the guys when I come home. We play pool, listen to music that's far too loud for the setting, and engage in as little conversation as possible. Yea! for gender roles.