BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE
WAIT UNTIL THE COFFEE’S POURED
Janice McLaughlin
~~~~~~~~~~~~
For holiday meals, the same rules apply
All families have them, there is good reason why.
Wash your hands before sitting, keep elbows off the table
Children should be seen not heard,
Don’t call your cousin a nerd.
Don’t complain because the kitchen swelters.
And whatever you do — don’t interrupt your elders.
No slurping, burping, or passing gas
If you need something, ask someone to pass.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was Thanksgiving, I was about fourteen. Of course my two obnoxious (male) cousins were there, as well as three female cousins. It was the usual huge family celebration with both my Mother’s and Dad’s parents and siblings, and their husbands, wives, and their children.
A meal that took more than a day to prepare was usually over in about an hour. This time it was cut short.
I didn’t ask someone to pass the olives. I reached for them. At that moment someone was pouring (boiling) coffee into a cup. My arm extended between the cup and the coffee—and I learned the hard way that’s why you always ask someone to pass.
I guess I screamed, I really don’t remember that, or the rest of the day. I was wearing a wool sweater; someone pulled it off — along with most of the skin on my arm. I guess my Dad and Mom took me to the hospital, and I had to spend several days there.
I suppose the party went on without me. I’m sure the whole group didn’t go to the hospital.
I do remember the weeks, or months, of returning to the hospital to have the dressing taken off, the burnt skin debraided, and a new dressing applied. I was in a lot of pain for a long time. The skin was grafted and I don’t have much of a scar.
Also, I do remember the smell of my burnt skin. People always say it’s an awful smell — but I thought it smelled pretty good.
I learned a lesson that Thanksgiving day.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
ADDITIONAL THANKSGGIVING READING:
The Thanksgiving Baby
A THANKSGIVING POEM
THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY
TURDUCKIN
WHAT? NO PUMPKIN PIE FOR THANKSGIVING?
My Husband’s Pumpkin Pie Saga
~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Wait Until the Coffee’s Poured
Tags: A Thanksgiving lesson, All, All posts, Commentary, Contemplation, Holidays, Latest post, Lifestyle, Memoir, Misc., Miscellaneous, Poem, Poetry, Reflections, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving poem, Thoughts
BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE
WAIT UNTIL THE COFFEE’S POURED
Janice McLaughlin
~~~~~~~~~~~~
For holiday meals, the same rules apply
All families have them, there is good reason why.
Wash your hands before sitting, keep elbows off the table
Children should be seen not heard,
Don’t call your cousin a nerd.
Don’t complain because the kitchen swelters.
And whatever you do — don’t interrupt your elders.
No slurping, burping, or passing gas
If you need something, ask someone to pass.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was Thanksgiving, I was about fourteen. Of course my two obnoxious (male) cousins were there, as well as three female cousins. It was the usual huge family celebration with both my Mother’s and Dad’s parents and siblings, and their husbands, wives, and their children.
A meal that took more than a day to prepare was usually over in about an hour. This time it was cut short.
I didn’t ask someone to pass the olives. I reached for them. At that moment someone was pouring (boiling) coffee into a cup. My arm extended between the cup and the coffee—and I learned the hard way that’s why you always ask someone to pass.
I guess I screamed, I really don’t remember that, or the rest of the day. I was wearing a wool sweater; someone pulled it off — along with most of the skin on my arm. I guess my Dad and Mom took me to the hospital, and I had to spend several days there.
I suppose the party went on without me. I’m sure the whole group didn’t go to the hospital.
I do remember the weeks, or months, of returning to the hospital to have the dressing taken off, the burnt skin debraided, and a new dressing applied. I was in a lot of pain for a long time. The skin was grafted and I don’t have much of a scar.
Also, I do remember the smell of my burnt skin. People always say it’s an awful smell — but I thought it smelled pretty good.
I learned a lesson that Thanksgiving day.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
ADDITIONAL THANKSGGIVING READING:
The Thanksgiving Baby
A THANKSGIVING POEM
THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY
TURDUCKIN
WHAT? NO PUMPKIN PIE FOR THANKSGIVING?
My Husband’s Pumpkin Pie Saga
~~~~~~~~~~~~
TO RECEIVE E-MAIL NOTIFICATION
OF NEW POSTS ON THE BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE
Subscribe!
(to subscribe see upper right hand post on this site—
Notification will begin after you confirm your subscription
on the e-mail you will receive from wordpress.com )
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