The Day After Thanksgiving
A Story about Family
As Ann and Ricky were driving back from their daughter’s house, Ricky thought of something. They had just passed Peoria and it would be another two hours before they arrived home.
“We just spent the whole time talking about things we were grateful for,” he said out of the blue.
Ann didn’t think this needed a response. She’d been married to Ricky long enough to know that if he cared to elaborate on that comment, he would. As it so happened, he did.
“There wasn’t a single fight about the last election or the next one or about the economy or anything!” he said. “I was looking forward to that part of the holiday season.”
“Honey, we know you think our family is a little boring and we need some more drama, but most people don’t look forward to spending the holidays fighting with their in-laws about presidential primaries.”
“I know,” he said, waving his hand. “We have a normal family.”
“Most people would say that’s a good thing.”
“I read four articles,” Ricky said, “describing how it was impossible for American families to get through the holiday season without the Republican uncle fighting with the Democrat college kid about the southern border. One was lamenting the death of the traditional American holiday and wishing we could live in a world that wasn’t so divisive. Another was saying this was why we should get rid of families and holidays. One was just a list of defenses I could give to any arguments our son-in-law’s family came at me with. And the other one was a humor column listing the only safe Thanksgiving topics in 2023: cranberry sauce, patio furniture, and woodturning.”
“Those are the only safe topics?” asked Ann, taking a left exit onto an expressway which would merge with another interstate.
“You can’t talk about the weather because someone is going to mention climate change. You can’t talk about golf because of the Saudis. You can’t talk about sports in general because basketball is owned by the Chinese Communist Party, baseball players are on steroids, the soccer team hates America, and nobody wants to have that fight over renaming Washington’s football team again. You can’t talk about turkey because someone is going to say that meat is murder. You can’t talk about religion because that’s going to make someone mad. You can’t talk about music because every musician has expressed an opinion. Or some haven’t and that, too, is suspect.”
“Honey,” said Ann, merging onto the interstate they would take for the next forty miles, “I think we had conversations about all of those things and nobody had a big argument. We talked about musicians and just had conversations about the music. Your niece and nephew spent the whole time talking about sports, it seemed, and no one brought up anything controversial.”
“I know. Even when we watched football, nobody wanted to argue about it.”
“Maybe they wanted to watch the game.”
“Well,” said Ricky, “I did, too.”
“Honey, other people don’t like arguments.”
“I know,” said Ricky. “But I’m still surprised. As I said, I read these articles that said it was impossible – they said it was impossible – for Americans to have a normal Thanksgiving.”
“Honey,” said Ann. “Columnists just need something to write about.”
Ricky thought about that for a moment, and then he nodded. Ann was supposed to be watching the road, but she saw him nod. They lapsed into silence, and then Ricky said, “People can’t talk about hunting or fishing because some people are against both or don’t like guns. People can’t talk about technology because some people think AI is going to take over and they’re ready to be beamed up, and other people think it’s going to take over and they’re ready to bomb us back to the days of Conan the Barbarian to prevent that. We can’t talk about traffic because somebody is going to blame the people in power and somebody else is going to blame the government monopoly on roads and somebody else is going to say that we need self-driving cars and somebody else is going to say human driving should be illegal and somebody else is going to say that self-driving cars are a sign of the apocalypse and that we need to be bombed back into the days of Conan the Barbarian.”
“I get it, dear.”
“It was a funny article.”
“Are you hungry?”
“It’s only eleven.”
“Yes, but we’re about to pass an exit with a lot of options for places to eat and our options will be pretty limited for the next two hours.”
“Let’s get off, then.”
It had been smooth sailing thus far on the drive. Perhaps that was because people were out shopping. Ricky said something about how Black Friday and Cyber Monday were anathema topics because someone was going to complain about consumerism and someone else was going to complain about algorithms and Ann told him to stop. Luckily, over lunch he happened to remember a book he’d read in 1975 and he spent the rest of the drive home talking about that.
They picked up a pizza on the way into town and ate it before they unpacked the car. Now that they were retired, they sometimes waited to unpack the car until the day after they arrived home.
Ricky was reading the newspaper and Ann was reading a book on her phone when Ricky suddenly looked up and said, “There was supposed to be some uncle who made everyone angry.”
Ann looked up and glanced over at him. She cocked her head.
“That was what I read. There’s supposed to be one crazy uncle at Thanksgiving who makes the young people uncomfortable because of how he says things you aren’t supposed to say anymore.”
“That would have to be you or your brother,” said Ann. “You’re his kids’ uncle and he’s Melita’s uncle.”
“He and I agree,” said Ricky. “He’s one of the few sane people left in this country.”
“Probably you,” said Ann, looking back at her phone.
“We should have invited my uncle Erik!” said Ricky. “Been a while since I seen that crazy old feller. Bet he’s excited about this new president in Argentina.”
“I think you’re excited about the new president of Argentina,” said Ann without looking up.
“Everybody is. I’m amazed that Uncle Erik is still alive and kicking. He’s pushing a hundred and he’s been smoking a pack a day for ninety years.”
“He started smoking when he was ten?” Ann asked, looking up.
“Maybe eighty years, then. Although, knowing Uncle Erik, I don’t know.”
“It must be your aunt Marj who keeps him young.”
“Must be. She gets enough exercise for the both of them. I think it’s the fact that Uncle Erik never did eat all that much. Guess that’s the benefit of the smoking.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
They lapsed into silence again. Ricky finished reading the paper, which he declared hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know, and went to check if there were any movies on. Ann reminded him that they could join the twenty-first century and sign up for a streaming service instead of playing the lottery with whatever was on television, but Ricky said he liked flicking channels and if they signed up for a streaming service then they’d have to start actually watching movies. He scrolled through all of the channels, announced that there was nothing on, and went to go find a book.
“There never is,” said Ann to a silent room. Ricky came back into the room. He hadn’t heard her, but he said, “That’s because there aren’t any good movies anymore. They finished making them all in 1993 and the studios haven’t known what to do since then,” because he knew what she’d said when he was out of the room. They had this conversation a lot.
Ricky had settled down to read on the couch when Ann spoke up again. “You know,” she said, “if you’re looking for something to do, we could…”
“No!”
“Just this once it might be nice to…”
“No!”
“Try something different…”
“Never!”
“I know it isn’t technically…”
“No!”
“Christmas season yet but some people…”
“Heathens.”
“Start on Thanksgiving.”
“If we don’t stick fast and hard to tradition,” Ricky said, “there’ll be no space left for Thanksgiving. We have to give it space! We have to protect it from…”
“Ok. Never mind.”
“If we don’t save Thanksgiving, eventually the whole year will be the Christmas season.”
“Forget I asked.”
“I refuse to put up decorations before December 1st.”
“Yes, dear,” said Ann, “I know.”
Ann went to get a book, too, and when she came back, Ricky was engrossed in his. She sat next to him and they each read silently, except for the brief interruptions where Ricky shared passages aloud, which Ann knew he would do whether she asked him to or not. Whenever he was done, he always went back to reading silently. They sat like that into the evening, until both of them fell asleep.