I've got some great news...
This dear old man is 83 today. Great stuff. In honor of his birthday, I'm going to post my little essay about Thanksgiving last year in which he makes a colorful appearance garnering his large fan-base.
Last year for Thanksgiving weekend my mom talked me into bringing home a friend from school. His name was Dan and he was a Napoleon Dynamite look-alike: tall, pale, skinny, glasses, peach-fuzz mustache, light brown hair. It was something he took pride in. He even talked like Napoleon Dynamite and would randomly say “Gosh,” “Lucky,” and “Freakin idiot,” right in the middle of a conversation. We met freshman year when he lived down the hall from me in Reynolds. Somewhat of a loner, I would invite Dan to movies, sports games, and other group outings when I could. Occasionally we went to church together. That’s how my mother found out about him. She loved that I was attending church, and thought it was sweet I had a friend to go with. A week before Thanksgiving she called me and asked if I had any friends who were stuck in town for the break.
Yes I told her, a guy named Dan from California.
“Oh honey, is that the boy you sometimes go to church with?” she asked.
I sighed and said yes. I could picture the lit light-bulb over her head, her green eyes wide open and a smile starting to form on her lips.
“Oh that’s sad. Why is that?”
I explained once again that it was because he lived in California and he said it wasn’t worth the cost of a plane ticket, especially since he didn’t eat turkey.
“Stephanie…Do you want to know what I think would be the Christian thing to do?”
If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought that my mother was the creator of the Catholic guilt-trip. It’s her weapon of choice that I can never resist: Jesus and my mother’s opinion in a package deal.
“I think you should invite him to come home with you. Since his family is so far away, I’m sure it would be a nice to have a home cooked Thanksgiving dinner. We have plenty of room and more than enough food. It’s what any good Christian would do,” she said, repeating the last sentence to get her point across.
I took a moment to think it over. I told her I was not sure if bringing home a guy who referred to himself as “Dan The Man” was a good idea. Yes, it would be nice, but I didn’t know the kid too well. I didn’t want to play chaperone for the three days I would be home-I wanted to see my friends, spend time with the family, and have a nice vacation. I didn’t know how this guy would react to our family, with Dad’s gas issues and Grandpa’s teasing, I think he would be better off in Tallahassee.
“Why not make it your good deed for Thanksgiving? You’ll be thankful that your family is only a four hour drive away, and he’ll be happy to spend some time away from school. You will be rewarded in many ways for doing something nice like this,” Mom said trying to seal the deal.
Despite being hesitant, I decided to invite Dan to go home with me because of what my mother said. In terms I knew Mom would understand, I explained to her that she would have to spend the week briefing Grandpa and the rest of the family against making any references to dating, otherwise I’d pull a Judas on her plan. She promised no such thing would happen. Everything was settled and Dan and I would be on our way down South the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.
To get to New Port Richey, my roommate Laura, Dan, and I rode home with Laura’s mother who was in town for the week on business. Laura was up front talking about her approaching finals with her mom while I was left in the back with Dan who was drumming and bobbing to the music he was listening to on his iPod. Sick of looking out the window, I tapped Dan on the shoulder and asked him what he was listening to.
“Cats,” he said after pulling out one of the earphones.
“Cats?” I repeat back to him. My first thought was real-live cats meowing, not unlike the cats in the Meow Mix commercials. I knew they had relaxing music with whale sounds and frog noises, but I didn’t even understand that, let alone cats meowing.
“Um, no. Cats as in the musical, you know ‘Memory…all alone in the moonlight…’” he sang in his baritone voice. “I was listening to the song ‘Jellical Cats.’”
“Oh. You sure were rocking out over there. I can’t listen to Cats, I have issues with people in costumes,” I said as Dan gave me a weird look. “So um, yeah, I’ll let you go back to your show-tunes.” After putting the earphone back in he quietly started chanting “jellical cats, jellical cats, jellical cats,” along with the music and I happily went back to looking out the window.
Three hours into the car ride, I fell asleep but was woken up twenty minutes later by Dan talking. “Hey guys, I’ve got some great news,” he said, waiting for one of us to ask him what it was.
“What Dan?” I said.
“I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance by switching to Geico,” he said, laughing at his joke.
“Wow, you’re a natural comedian.” I said, trying not to be condescending although I felt like I was dealing with one of the kids I baby-sat.
“While part of the joke is the delivery, I can’t take all the credit-it’s from the Geico commercials with the little gecko.”
“Oh, ok Dan. Well I’m going back to sleep. Why don’t you listen to the Star Wars soundtrack or something?” That he thought was a great idea, and considering he had the soundtracks for the recent movies, he was entertained until we arrived at my house.
After introducing Dan to the family and settling in our rooms, I set Dan up with the internet and started catching up with my mom. This trip was going to be no different than any previous trips home. As a special guest, I always chose what the family would have for dinner on my first night back and that night I chose my favorite-chicken cacciatore. As I made the salad, sliced the long loaf of bread, and started the spaghetti, I heard about my nine-year-old sister Kristina getting phone calls from boys and Grandpa getting into a minor car accident. My fifteen-year-old sister Hailey got her learners permit through drivers-ed, and my thirteen-year-old brother Austin discovered his ability to bowl through a local league. As I was putting the pasta into the boiling water, the phone rang and the Caller-ID showed it was my uncle’s house.
“Ray, it’s your family on the phone,” my mother shouted so that my dad would hear her from his office. Mom’s not the only one who sees her in-laws that way, my sister Hailey and I have a hard time considering my dad’s brother and wife our family-and we have blood ties to them. “The Other Mackins,” as we refer to them, tend to separate themselves from the rest of the family: they don’t really ever visit Grandpa, they don’t go out of their way to stay in touch with people, my uncle makes cruel jokes, and it always feels like they’re being judgmental.
“You know Steph, they invited us over to their house for Thanksgiving and were giving your dad a hard time when I said there was no way in hell we were going over there.” my mom said to me, as she was putting the shredded chicken back into the tomato sauce.
“Thank God. Knowing my luck, I’d get stuck at the kids table again, while Nichole would be at the adult table,” I said, referring to the previous Thanksgiving where I was placed at the kid’s table being the oldest by at least five years. My aunt’s niece from her side of the family was only one year older than me, and she was placed at the adult’s table. According to them they have had a kids table every year, except for the past four Thanksgivings which we attended when they seemingly lacked a kid’s table.
“Last weekend when Kristina went over to play with Holly and Julia at their house, she referred to Grandpa as an old man and Heather snapped at her. According to her it was disrespectful, as though she suddenly cared about him.”
“I call him an old man all the time! He’s eighty-two! I can’t think of a better definition of an old man!”
“Well I let your father know that Krist--” Mom said and was cut off before she finished her sentence.
“Hey guys, what’s up?” Dan said as he approached my mother and I in the kitchen, holding up his hand for a high-five.
“Um, not too much Dan,” I said puzzled by his approach, obligingly patting his hand with mine. After the high-five Dan walked back to the kitchen bar and stood there. His stance and the look on his face seemed to say he wasn’t satisfied by my answer. “We’re just getting dinner ready and talking about family stuff.” I said and looked at my mom.
Her short ash blond hair was tousled and she had tomato sauce splattered on her green polo shirt. She had finished putting the chicken back in the pot and put her hands on her hips. Her head was cocked to the side like our Basset Hound Buddy did when he seemed confused, and her eyes were squinted as if she was trying to peer inside Dan’s head to find out what he was thinking. In our house the kitchen, breakfast nook, and family room are all together in one big open space, allowing easy communication despite placement in the room. Dan was able to hear our whole conversation, yet he came over, cut my mother off, and asked us what was up. When I finally caught my mother’s eye I gave her a look that said “I warned you!”
When we were finally sitting down for dinner, despite it tasting amazing, I felt uncomfortable as our usual supper antics took place. Mom sat down and said Grace loudly although everyone had started eating, as if she were trying to make a point. My dad kept farting and telling corny jokes about parrots and guinea pigs that nobody understood. My brother Austin asked what kind of drugs I was currently addicted to. Hailey complained about the high school dress code and how much she hated her braces. Kristina kept elbowing me as she used her left hand to eat during which three different boys called for her. Dan quoted Napoleon Dynamite. “Tina, eat the food. Eat the food!” he would say with a monotone conviction that humored only the two youngest at the table. Grandpa, who always eats in his room but often joins us on my first night home, was not at all impressed with our guest. He walked into the kitchen, got his plate, watched us for a minute as if he was trying to decide whether or not it would be worth it to join us; and ultimately went in his room to watch Walker Texas Ranger re-runs.
The next day, I had a full itinerary. Although it was Thanksgiving Day, a local bowling alley was open in the morning, so I took Kristina and Austin to bowl. I gave Dan the option of going or staying at my house and hoped that Warcraft was more appealing then throwing around twelve pound balls, but he chose the latter. After the first two games, Grandpa came to watch Austin and Kristina as he often did when they bowled. Grandpa and I sat at one of the tables that lined the aisle of the bowling alley while the kids and Dan entertained themselves. Grandpa and I talked about Grandma, and what she did for Thanksgiving when she was alive, and about our heritage. While Grandpa started complaining about Polish food, Dan approached our table and stood listening to what we were talking about.
“Your grandmother’s family didn’t believe in good food. Everything was boiled and bland, something to do with Poland. You know it was, uh the Nazis, and uh the Catholics, and uh my mother-in-laws fault.” Grandpa said.
I couldn’t draw the connection, but I was happier listening to his rant than questioning it and starting an argument. “You hate bland food? You eat that Farina crap all the time,” I said. When I was younger my mother told me it also doubled as wallpaper glue. I thought she was serious and relayed that information to a friend of mine who wanted to wallpaper their bedroom. Turns out it’s not true.
“Well like I was saying, because I’m from all over the map I like foods with flavor. It’s the Irish, Italian, Scottish, Czech, and African in me,” Grandpa said.
“So when you have to fill out forms, what do you check for your race-white non-Hispanic, African-American, or one of the mixed options?”
“Well I don’t recognize the African in me because apparently everyone is part African. So of course I select white,” he said and threw up his hands up, as if to say ‘duh’ to my foolishness.
“So, what’s up?” Dan said, as if he hadn’t heard any of our conversation. He held his hand up to me, waiting for a high-five, and I met his palm.
“What’s up?” Grandpa said. “You’ve been standing here for five minutes and you now ask what’s up? You know what’s up! If you don’t there might be something wrong with you. You know, you are really something else, kid.” Grandpa said shaking his head. Normally I would have chastised him for such an outburst, but he said everything I was thinking and I could barely stop myself from bursting out laughing.
Dan didn’t seem at all taken aback by Grandpa’s opinion. He responded by shrugging his shoulders and saying, “Something else? I’m just Dan The Man-ha ha ha.” That was how he really laughed: saying ‘ha’ in his deep voice. “But guess what? I’ve got some great news…”
“You’ve saved a bunch of money on your car insurance by switching to Geico.” I said, cutting him off with what he considered the punch-line of the joke. It was the tenth time he told the joke since leaving school.
“Hey, how did you know that?” Dan asked me.
“You should think about finding some new jokes, Dan.”
Grandpa could see the annoyed look on my face and patted my back. “This is why I never listen to your mother,” he whispered to me. For the first time, I understood where he was coming from.
Sidenote: It's not finished.
Another sidenote: People, learn how to distinguish the use of former and latter!! Three people in my writing class tried to correct my usage of latter, which made me think I used it incorrectly, when in fact I did not!