I'll Take the Day After

Thanksgiving. It's never been my favorite holiday.

When I was young, I didn't care much for turkey, stuffing, cranberries, or any of the other traditional food associated with the holiday. I wasn't even much of a mashed potato fan at that point in my life. And what is Thanksgiving about if not eating? It doesn't have the presents and festive decorations of Christmas. It doesn't have the candy and egg hunts of Easter. It was just food and family get togethers, a holiday for grown-ups in my childish eyes.

Then, was I was 16 years old and finally coming around to appreciating the holiday, my grandpa passed away during Thanksgiving week. We spent Thanksgiving at the funeral home in deep mourning of a man I loved dearly. My dislike of the holiday only deepened.

When I went away to college, I quit going home for Thanksgiving and became somewhat of a Turkey Day orphan. I had the usual feasts in Baton Rouge and Galveston. I made do with chicken in Freiburg and Athens. And when Jeff and I got married, I began spending Thanksgiving in Seattle. While I'd be loathe to give up Christmas with my family, I can handle Thanksgiving just about any way you give it to me.

But there is one thing that I especially miss about Thanksgiving at home, but it doesn't actually have anything to do with Thanksgiving day. It's all about the day after: Black Friday.

When I was little, I'd wake up on Black Friday to find my mom gone. I never quite knew where she was, but she'd be gone a good part of the day, "running errands" according to my dad. The year I discovered that Santa Claus wasn't quite who I thought he was, I found out that the "errands" weren't quite of the toilet paper buying type, but instead she was out in search of our Christmas gifts. That year my mom invited me to go along with her.

We were up early. It was still dark outside, the air crisp and clear except for the little clouds of heat made by your breath. My mom had a list and a big stack of ads, a plan for hitting the stores in the right order so as to maximize deals and hit as many stores as we could right after they opened. (And while this was early, back in the day, it wasn't the ridiculous 3 a.m. - 5 a.m. openings that are so common now. We weren't that crazy.) Strategically we'd go after the hot items first, the toys that every other person in town wanted too, and most of the time we'd succeed in nabbing that most wanted item, the number one on one of my brothers' Christmas lists, the toy that they were counting on Santa to bring, the reason they'd shape up right away as soon as they were reminded that Santa was watching. I thought it was great fun, a scavenger hunt of sorts complete with the thrill of victory when you found just what it was you were looking for.

After we'd hit all the openings of the big box stores, we'd head to the mall and go straight for the Cinnabon store for a gooey breakfast treat. Then it was more shopping until our stomachs started grumbling again and we'd sit down for lunch. Not too long after that, we'd head home, our feet tired, the trunk of the car full.

I don't know whether it was the secret nature of the shopping trip or just the fact that I got to spend the whole day with my mom (and not share her with any of my brothers or my dad) that made it such a fun day, but it was. And every year, when I eat my turkey or whatever stand in is at hand wherever I am, I recall those days with a sense of happiness and a tad bit of magical feeling. So you keep your memories of turkey and stuffing, I'll enjoy my memories of shopping and Cinnabon.