Poor Thanksgiving
Poor Thanksgiving. It often gets lost in the hurried frenzy of Christmas shoppers too eager to wait until the Saturday afterward to start shopping. Yes, there are those who find Black Friday (and now even “Brown Thursday”) to be a tradition spent between moms and daughters whisking out of the driveway in sweatpants at 3 AM in order to save a few bucks. 
The loud bustle of the espresso machines whirling at 3 AM in Starbucks for that Black Friday latte before fighting the maddening crowds is a little much for me these days. Maybe it’s because—with four young children—I’m just tired. All the time. BUT, do you remember growing up and getting excited to have a four-day weekend, of which included a day to sleep off all the gravy we ate the day before? What happened?
The sounds of Thanksgiving included the sound of the electric carving knife slicing the turkey to bits, while grandma laughed at the spectacle, licking gravy off her fingers as turkey bits flew. It was the blender whipping up homemade cream to top the hot pumpkin pie out of the oven. It was aunts laughing in the kitchen. Like gut-busting laughs. I couldn’t help but laugh with them even though I didn’t know what they were talking about. It was contagious. I still smile when I think about it.
It was the sound of boots stomping the snow off as a million distant relatives came bustling through the door like a bunch of bundled up “Ralphies” from The Christmas Story. It was aunts giving smooches on all the babies’ and kids’ cheeks, remarking how they’ve grown, and kids being “on their best behavior.” 
It was the sound of cards being dealt for a game of cards, or kids squealing when papa came in and tossed them higher and higher in the air. Or when he got the train out. Oh, how he loved trains.
It was the sound of fine glasses going “tink” as they were raised in a toast to health, and saying a prayer of thankfulness to God. We kids felt important raising our glasses of punch up with the grown ups. It wasn’t every day we got to use the fine china. Barely reaching over the table, we could hear the sound of fancy dishes being passed, with scoops of delectable carbohydrates being plopped on plates, then topped with heavenly goodness, also known as gravy. We all gained five pounds just in passing the food around, consuming it with our eyes before it ever hit our stomachs.
It was the drone of a television somewhere in the background after dinner, an announcer citing plays of a football game—and dad snoring louder than the game itself, head hanging back on the couch…mouth hanging wide open. It was festive jazz music playing in three-quarter time. It was mothers repeatedly asking children to stop running through the house, lest they poke an eye out. 
All of this culminated in to a very much needed day of rest on Friday. Seriously, eating five pounds of turkey, gravy, noodles, casseroles, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie, and rolls didn’t just digest overnight. It required massive shut-eye…which brings me back to poor Thanksgiving. Are we giving it the time it deserves, or are we brushing right over it in less than 24 hours? According to ABC News, “Americans take less vacation, work longer days, and retire later.” Just maybe we need to enjoy the sounds of peace that comes on the Friday after Thanksgiving, the sounds only found if we relax at home with family.
It’s very possible that we’re missing memories, simply because we’re caught in the chaos.
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Kiersten Troutman is the Manager of Marketing and Outreach at HEARINC. She holds a Bachelor of Arts degree from Kent State University, and is finishing up her Master of Arts degree in Composition and Rhetoric from The University of Akron. She suffers unilateral hearing loss from birth and has a true appreciation for the audiological advances made in the assistive hearing device industry. She has a passion for helping others realize that hearing loss does not discriminate with age, and has a vision to educate the public on how quality of life can often be improved simply by taking advantage of the amazing technology available.
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Copyright. Kiersten D. Troutman. 2014.
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