How my Mother converted me to Cynicism and Chinese Food

In most families sometime after the turkey has been eaten, the pies devoured and the dishes left to pile in the sink, mom will stare at the mess left after her hours of cooking, cleaning and holiday-ing, raise her hands in the air and threaten to never celebrate another holiday. In most families all is forgotten and traditions are maintained. But that is most families. My family is not most families. And most moms are not my mom.

When my mom threw her hands in the air and exclaimed that next year there would be no chance for a future Thanksgiving fiasco, we thought she was being dramatic. - until the next November when she informed us that we would be spending thanksgiving in Disneyland – completely free of relatives, dishes and poultry.

Despite Disneyland’s allure, we were disappointed and dad was most disappointed of all. But we couldn’t pass up a chance at Disneyland so we went; the compromise being we would find somewhere to have a real sit down holiday meal.

We rode the rides, met the characters and did our Disneyland duty. But you bet that on thanksgiving afternoon we were all begging for our promised poultry.

We were the only ones in the restaurant and the waitresses looked annoyed that we were even there. But we didn’t care. No amount of sulky waitresses, faded cardboard decorations and wilted menus would keep us from good-ol American tradition. We all ordered the Thanksgiving special (except for my mom who ordered a sandwich) and waited anxiously for the steaming goodness to arrive.

We waited. And waited. And waited. My mom’s sandwich came…but no specials. Dad complained but he was told the kitchen was busy. We tried to hold back the disappointment while Mom shrugged her shoulders and took another bite of sandwich.

When it did finally come, we were so happy we almost forgot our frustration. Until a squeal came from the end of the table where my sister sat holding a long, grease covered hair.

Dad complained. The waitress shrugged and left my sister to wait and the rest of us to pretend our food was homecooked and free of wilty waitress hair.

The potatoes were flat, the stuffing was dry and the turkey was greasy.

Then we all complained. All we wanted, we told our mother, was a home cooked meal. We wanted tradition and home and look how it failed! It was a disaster. We hoped that our whining would soften her up and convince her to take up her dutiful cooking once more.

She put down her sandwich, looked up at us and said, “I told you so. Holidays fail. What’s the use trying"

We looked down at our plates and up at the peeling wallpaper on the wall of the only restaurant open on Thanksgiving day and were converted. Since then we have eaten Chinese take-out every thanksgiving and turkey and stuffing every 30^th of November. 

Though I am still trying to convert Eric