Greg sighed, I sighed, and my dog sighed. We were helping my mom make the pies for Thanksgiving, which is next week. She said that she wants to be prepared. My godmother was sitting on the couch with Sam, who was home from college for Thanksgiving. She was telling him some story about how she met my godfather at a Thanksgiving bash, but I guess he was bored. He kept trying to get up and go to the gym, but my godmother would pull him back down and say, "But we're not even at the best part yet!" I laughed. He was dressed in his Florida Gators shirt, or should I say, one of them. He plays basketball for the University of Florida, and the coach told them to keep practicing, even if they had a few days off. Poor Sam, not getting his practicing in.
Greg reached for some more jam at the same time I did and our hands bumped. He immediately turned bright red, looked at the clock, and said he had to go. He ran out the door before he could even get his coat on.
"Greg, wait up!" I called after him.
He turned around and apologized, though I didn't know what for. We walked in silence to his house. You know, he has been acting strangely towards me lately. I don't know what it is but I'm starting to wonder. We weren't that far from his house when I realized I had forgotten to ask him if he could come with me and my dad to go get our turkey next week.
"Hey Greg," I said, "do you wanna come help us get our turkey next week?"
He stuttered before getting the answer out clearly, which was unlike him.
"Uh, yea, sure, I'd love to. Bye Emily!"
And he was off.
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It was Thursday, the day of Thanksgiving. My dad and I woke up early to go catch us some turkey! I called Greg and he met us at my house. We walked out to the back of the forest before finding a really good turkey, probably 30 pounds or so. It would work. My dad gets ready to shoot at it. When he was younger, him and his dad would go out and catch their turkey on Thanksgiving Day, so he insists on doing that with me. I feel kind of neutral about the whole idea, I mean, I know that for the turkey to end up on my plate, it has to be killed, but to be there when it's killed, I don't really like. But, I do enjoy spending time with my dad. Greg was quiet the entire way up, it looked like he was thinking, about what? Don't ask me.
So here we are, in a way face to face with the turkey. My dad was preparing himself, making sure to be right on target. If he shot and missed, it would scare away all the birds within a 50 mile radius; my dad's gun was loud. I blocked my ears, and Greg did the same. I closed my eyes, but Greg kept his open. We stood behind my dad. And he shot. And missed. When I unplugged my ears, I expected to see the turkey waiting there, but instead I heard 'Gobble Gobble' and saw the tail end feathers of the turkey that should have been ours running for its life. My dad sighed and started leading the way to another sight. And we experienced the same preparation and results.
"Geez, what is up with this today?" my dad said.
"I have no clue," I said.
Greg stayed silent.
Well, third time is the charm, I guess. It took almost an hour to find the next one, and that is not including the time it took us to migrate to a new area. At that point, my dad just shot the turkey. When we got home and weighed it, we found it was only 15 pounds. So I guess we were only allowed to eat seconds of the stuffing because there was plenty of that. Greg stayed while my mom feathered it and put the turkey in the oven. We watched football; the Cowboys vs. the Jets. Good game, what I saw of it. Jets were winning, yahoo! Greg and I were battling over which quarterback was better, Mark Sanchez or Tony Romo, since he is a Cowboys fan. In the middle of all that, we heard a scream coming from the kitchen. Greg and I left the den in a nano second, just to find my mom standing by the oven trying to put out the fire. The alarm was going mad. Once the fire was all gone, we all stood there, breathless, staring at our turkey ashes.
When the guests came, we had a store bought turkey on our table, and that did not make my dad happy. But as I looked around the table at all the happy faces, I realized that sure, the tradition wasn't carried out for each year, but there was plenty more I could be grateful for; like the fact that my family had the ability to be here with us on Thanksgiving under a roof with food on our plates. I was also thankful for finally being off crutches. I smiled as I dug into my turkey, grateful for so much more than I could realize at that moment.
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That was the fourth chapter of my blog. Sorry it took a while for it to get posted! I hope your Thanksgiving is better than Emily John's! Haha. Come back to justbeingmegan.blogspot.com to see what will happen to her for the rest of her "Thirteenth Year!" Leave your comments in the comment box and don't be afraid to become a follower!
