Thanksgiving is worth the early wake-up

By Nikki Hopkins
Collegian Editor
April 2, 2009

When asked about my favorite holiday, several possibilities went through my mind. Every holiday is great, but what stands out in my mind? The answer was easy: Thanksgiving. Every Thanksgiving—every one I can remember, at least—has been almost the same. The day always starts out with the Turkey Bowl: Father Judge vs. Lincoln High in a football game. I never liked football much, so I never went to the games. My Thanksgiving was usually spent sitting in the living room, watching television and waiting impatiently for the rest of my family to get home.

After everyone came home and got properly dressed to go to my great-grandmother’s house, we all piled into the car and met up with the rest of my mom’s family in one old house in Tacony. The kitchen was too small, as was the dining room, so we put at least three long folding tables throughout the living room. My original job was to put the biscuits in the oven and to set the table.

One year, as my grandmother and great-grandmother found that cooking for over a dozen people was too much, I asked half-heartedly if I could come over early to cook with them. I always loved using my Easy Bake Oven when I was younger, and with the naïve mind of a girl in the fifth grade, I said yes. How hard could it be?

I was ecstatic when my grandmother agreed to let me help. I always felt the closest bond to my grandmother out of any family member. The new tradition began when I slept over my great-grandmother’s house the night before. I awoke to a surprise only a few hours later. The clock read 3:30 a.m. Why was my grandmother waking me up so early? We had to put the turkey in the oven. I wasn’t aware of that arrangement when I agreed to help.

Not only was I unaware that we were waking up significantly before dawn, but I also did not know I would be the one cooking the entire meal, complete with a turkey. The task seemed too much for me to do, but with my grandmother’s years of experience and guidance, we put together a meal that my family seemed to enjoy.

For years to come, I would make the short drive to my great-grandmother’s house the night before Thanksgiving. I anticipated the 3:30 wake up call to put the turkey in the oven. Thanksgiving is what I like to think of as my holiday. With the passing of my great-grandmother about two years ago, we moved Thanksgiving to a smaller house with a smaller crowd. But one tradition has not changed: I am the one to prepare the Thanksgiving meal.

This small, yet long-running tradition fills me with a sense of pride. I love knowing that for one day a year, I am in charge, and the kitchen is mine. This became a bonding experience for three different generations of women in my family, and I have loved every year of it.

hopkinsd3@student.lasalle.edu