Tomorrow my students are going to ask me, “Did you have a good Thanksgiving, Miss?”
I will hold back a smile as my mind’s eye replays my young niece holding up her shirt to expose her very round belly, and smacking it soundly with her palm to declare, “Mama, I full;” and the look on my mother-in-law’s face as my father-in-law blocked the carefully planned picture of him administering my baby’s baptism; and my niece hiding, and crying, when my husband arrived for the festivities because she became suddenly very terrified of him… then my eyes will refocus on the expectant faces before me.
Their memories of holidays are different from mine (like the time when one aunt announced she’d be marrying the other aunt’s ex-husband), but they still want to believe in the magic of these moments. They want to believe good memories can be made with family. At the same time I want to be careful not to seem to gloat happiness.
So I’ll tell them that, yes, I had the most wonderful time with a friend, family, and my church; and I’ll watch their faces relax and eyes turn sad for a moment as they wonder what they missed this year. I dread that look.