by Kate McClanaghan, www.voiceoverinfo.com
It’s no secret Thanksgiving is my all-time favorite holiday. And with that, every year comes a new chapter in the on-going experience that is forever Thanksgiving.
But I have to say my own personal favorite Thanksgiving Day story has to be one that began when I was fifteen.
Okay, maybe I’m stating the obvious, but I was a teenager. With that came sleeping till noon at every given opportunity, especially on holidays. So when my five year old niece, Patti, excitedly came to me asking if I would be joining her, my sister and about 20 screaming kids under the age of ten at 6am on Thanksgiving morning to stand in the frost-filled air only to battle the crowds clamoring to see Santa kick off the holiday season during the annual parade, naturally I did what every self-respecting fifteen year old is apt to do: I lied.
How do you tell a sweet-faced five year old who worships everything you do and say that you have a date with your pillow this Thanksgiving morning, instead of spending time with her? And that you intend to let the scent of your mom’s home cooking permeate every sense you have.
Her ‘Suzie-Lou Who’ expression at once broke me in two. “Not coming? Not coming?” Her lower lip quivered. Her face read, “But Santa Claus is coming to town. Don’t you love me???”
Gulp.
“I can’t come WITH you, Patti… because…because I’m IN the parade”, I blurted out suddenly surprising even myself.
“You ARE?!!!” she cooed. Her eyes were full of holiday wonder and dreams.
“Yep, I’ll be in the giant caterpillar!” I fabricated further.
It just popped out. Once it started rolling out it picked up momentum and seemed to take on a life of it’s own.
I mean, I had always imagined what viewing the parade might have been like from inside my favorite float, and now it was paying off in tiny-niece brownie points. She was completely eating this up, plus I could succeed in remaining horizontal come Thanksgiving Day morning. Score!
Lacking expertise in all things children, I figured the wee one would most likely forget all about my minor departure from the truth and she’d ultimately get carried away in the whole holiday experience. Instead, however, before our family Thanksgiving dinner was over, I was being grilled by the excitable little magpie, “You were in there weren’t you?! I saw your shoes. Are those the shoes you wore? I SAW them! How many people were in there with you? Did you get to bring your best friends? Were there any elves inside the caterpillar with you? I KNEW it! How old do you have to be to be in the caterpillar?”
As my father would say, “I had buttered my toast, and now I had to lie in it.”
A year went by. I forgot all about the story I fed Patti the Thanksgiving Day prior. She, on the other hand, remembered… every… tiny… detail.
“Are you in the parade again this year?” she asked me with all the anticipation of cornbread stuffing, perfectly mashed potatoes with butter and a generous slice of a proper, plump, free-range bird that ultimately deserved to die for the cause.
“You bet!” I jumped in, “Only this year, I’m a Pilgrim!”
“You are?!!! I drew one in school. Where’s the hat? Can I see the costume?”
“Nope, sorry, it’s a surprise. We’re not allowed. You’ll have to wait for the parade!”
She was thrilled! This was great, I thought! The kid’s happy, I’m happy. I LOVE Thanksgiving!
Later at dinner she rushed in saying, “I saw you!! You were walking along and shaking everyone’s hands and waving!”
“That was me! I was even on TV!”
“You WERE?!!!”
It was almost too much for her now six-year-old self to contain. This was better than Bozo!
Another year passed. We both grew a year older and, what else, my vicious plot ultimately thickened.
“Did you see me?!” I offered up.
“Were you a pilgrim again?!!”
“Nope, I was an Indian!!”
“I THOUGHT that was you!!!” she squealed with excitement.
The Thanksgiving Day Parade ploy continued for two or three more years. But, like so many things, our little tradition ultimately faded away into the ether.
Then one early autumn afternoon, after I had graduated from college and Patti was beginning High School, I happened to overhear her mention to her friends in passing, “Oh, my aunt was in the Thanksgiving Day Parade for years…”
“Really?” I asked, “Who’s that?”
“YOU!!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, Patti,” I paused. I bit my lower lip and lowered my head. “Patti, I was never in the parade.”
“You were!! I saw you! You were a Pilgrim and an Indian and I distinctly remember you in the suspenders and funny pants and bump-toe shoes as one of the people in the caterpillar.”
“No, Patti. I was kidding.”
“WHAT??!!” she was devastated.
“But I SAW you!”
“No, you didn’t,” I confessed, “It never happened.”
You would have thought I had at once choked the Easter Bunny, stuffed him head first into the Great Pumpkin, fed them both to eight tiny reindeer and then murdered Santa in cold blood in front of a school bus full of 1st Graders.
To this day, Patti questions her own memory of it all. Though occasionally at family gatherings, I sometimes catch her staring quietly at me. She insists she remembers me dressed as a Pilgrim. Of course, the real fall-out of deceiving her is that she continues to doubt every utterance I have with her. I’m not allowed to offer any holiday stories, real or imagined, to her kids for fear they may be maimed emotionally for life. She swears every time I don’t tell her the whole truth she smells cinnamon.
Guess that’s the price I will continue to pay for trying to catch a few extra winks on Thanksgiving morning. I haven’t slept in on that day since.
But, as for this holiday–I wish you honest relatives and friends, and a season filled with hope, warmth, rest and good food. Enjoy the day and all that comes with it.
Happy Thanksgiving! Make it memorable. 
© 2009, Kate McClanaghan, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
