Thanks, But No Thanks

Thanks, But No Thanks

“Thanksgiving at my inlaws is why God invented football on TV.”

-Murray Burns

The air temperature drops, leaves swirl around patios and swingsets in backyards, and families gather to give thanks in the tradition established in 1621 by hungry Pilgrims and charitable Native Americans of the Wampanoag Confederacy. Miles Standish and Samoset set a tone of peace and harmony that would be remembered and celebrated at dining room tables from Maine to California for years to come. Thanksgiving, the most heartwarming, feel-good day of the year… except on one tree-lined street in this small town.

Fate set it all in motion. Tom loved Susie and Susie loved Tom. Lovers don’t wed and walk through the land of happily-ever-after alone. They drag their families along. In most cases, inlaw interactions are a net neutral. Sometime these relationships can actually add to the lives of all involved. And then there are the regrettable few instances where the extended family members are as compatible as a match and gasoline, and things don't work out so well. There are the occasional random inlaw interactions, but the one unavoidable constant of extended familial gatherings is Thanksgiving. These dinners are usually warm and friendly. Sometimes, not so much.

It was as certain as turkey and stuffing. Just about the time the last morsels of pumpkin pie were being scraped from plates, and the children were growing restless, Tom’s Dad, Grandpa Henry, and Susie’s Dad, Grandpa Marvin, would get into an argument over the most inconsequential topics known to man. Past areas of disagreement:

Best middle linebacker in the 60’s- the Giants’ Sam Huff or the Packers’ Ray Nitschke.

Bets home run hitter of all time- Henry Aaron or Babe Ruth.

Lebron or Michael.

Coolest car- Corvette (any year) or 1966 Jaguar XKE.

Most likely to win a battle in the wild- a lion or a tiger.

Best beer- Miller or Coors.

Fastest on the draw- Matt Dillon or Shane.

Most important thing to have with you in the event you survive a plane crash in the Andes- a jackknife or a compass.

Best fertilizer, best chain saw, best time to fish for walleyes, Ali or Marciano, and on and on.

 Fifteen epic battles, fifteen ties by default as all possible judges fled the table while the two combatants battled on with escalating volume and increasingly dramatic gestures. Only vast quantities of beer brought an end to the fierce battles of words as the two aging Grandpas eventually grew weary and retired to comfy stuffed chairs in the Rec room and dozed off to the evening NFL game.

There was a familiar pattern. As dinner moved into the dessert phase, Tom and his Mother, Grandma Bessy, Susie and her Mother, Grandma Gert, Uncle Fred and Aunt Gloria, and even the small children at the kids’ table, all waited in nervous anticipation for the moment. The non-combatants started their own tradition several years ago, a one-dollar bet on what this year’s topic would be- politics, sports, cars, TV or movie characters, obscure observations found in nature, or the fun category- “impossible that anyone could argue about this”.

There was no inherent dislike between Grandpa Henry and Grandpa Marvin. It was just that each was stubborn, opinionated, intolerant, and noticeably deficient in the ability of thoughtful discussion. Three hundred sixty-four days a year these qualities were of little import, but on this day, Thanksgiving, this volatile combination of personality deficiencies exploded like the grand finale of a Fourth of July fireworks display. A volcano building up pressure and, with the regularity of Old Faithful, erupting on the most improbable day of the year. A heated argument at the celebration of thankfulness, peace, and love would seem unfortunate, but, truth be told, some members of the family sort of got a kick out of it.

This year’s pre-dinner prayer would be given by Tom and Susie’s oldest, their son Clark, a third-year student at Berkley.

“For the smorgasbord of diseases plaguing our country, from cancer to COVID, from heart disease to strokes, we say thanks, but no thanks.

For the starving populations in third-world countries, we say thanks, but no thanks.

For the greedy corporate bastards jacking up the prices on everything we have to buy, we say thanks, but no thanks.

For the tornadoes wreaking havoc across the plains, taking lives and destroying communities, we say thanks, but no thanks.

For the hurricanes, hitting our shores with increasing frequency and greater ferocity, we say thanks but no thanks.

For the thousands of our college grads entering the real world with the burden of soul-crushing debt, soon to be me, we say thanks, but no thanks.

Amen.”

The puzzled dinner guests slowly raised their heads.

“Uh…, thank you Clark. That was… inspirational.”

“You’re welcome, Grandma Bessie.”

Grandma Bessie made a mental note to not call on Clark at their next gathering.

Turkey, done to perfection, mashed potatoes, dressing, gravy, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie, the All-American Thanksgiving dinner. Smiles, laughter, updates, entertaining small talk. Content to be together. But beneath the calm surface, troubled waters were beginning to swirl.

“Best dinner ever, Mom. It gets better every year.”

“Thank you, Tom. The best part is we are all together.”

“Well, let’s go watch some football.”

“Why is it always football, Henry?”

“It’s what all good Americans do on Thanksgiving, Marvin. Stuff themselves and watch football. It’s the national pastime.”

“That’s baseball. How could you not know that, Henry?”

“Oh good idea, Marvin, let’s play a little baseball the last week of November. The players would be in snowmobile suits.”

“That’s not what I meant. Mix it up a little. Football all afternoon and then a couple hours of something like WWE at night.”

“WWE?! You’ve got to be kidding me. A bunch of fake wrestlers in their underpants? Only a fool would watch that crap.”

“Fake? Crap? What are you talking about, Henry?”

Smiles were beginning to appear around the table.

“Oh my God, Marvin, don’t tell me you think that stuff is real.”

“Of course, it’s real. You must never have even watched it.”

“Oh, I’ve watched it, but I grew out of it when I was nine.”

“Millions of people watch it, Henry.”

“Millions of morons.”

“Who are you calling a moron?!”

“If the tiny little underpants fit, wear them.”

The fellow diners were casting glances at each other. The children’s eyes grew wider. The escalation and intensity of the argument were on record pace.

“You don’t know shit about wrestling!”

Giggles from the kids’ table. Uncle Fred and Aunt Gloria seemed to be enjoying their front-row seats.

“Grandpa Henry! Watch your language!”

“Sorry, Susie, it’s just that Grandpa Goofy here is such a dope. Could you put him at the kids’ table next year?”

“I’ll tell you who’s goofy! Anyone who thinks that bullshit… oops, sorry Susie… is real. Henry, you’ve got to be the only guy over the age of ten who thinks that stuff is real.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I wrestled in high school, and I know what I’m talking about. You think Hulk Hogan’s Standing Elbow Drop move isn’t real? He could kill a guy with that. Or the Rock’s Flying Crossbody? Those are devastating wrestling moves, Marvin. You just don’t appreciate the finely tuned athletes in the WWE.”

“Well, guess what you old fool. I wrestled in high school too. That stuff is fake. Everyone knows it’s fake. You don’t know sh… I mean, you don’t know anything.”

Grandma Bessie and Grandma Gert exchanged worried glances. There seemed to be an unfamiliar tone to the exchanges. Insulting the likes of the Rock and Hulk Hogan had struck a nerve with Grandpa Henry.

“I bet they called you ‘Flat on Your Back Marvin’ on your wrestling team. I’d like to see you stuff your big belly into a wrestling uniform today. Ha, ha, ha.”

Ooo… it was getting nasty. Grandma Gert sensed they were moving into the danger zone.

“Stop it you two! It’s ridiculous to argue about something so silly as that stupid wrestling stuff.”

“It’s not silly, Grandma! I’ll stop as soon as sawdust brains admits it’s real. These are the greatest athletes in the world and I’m not going to sit here and let him ridicule them.”

Uncle Fred was smiling. He had “Impossible that anyone could argue about this” in the betting pool.

“Ha! I’m sure I could’ve wiped the mat with your butt back in those days. That would have been easy to do because you probably wrestled in your underpants like your fake heroes!"

Grandma Bessy and Grandma Gert had been huddling in a corner of the adjacent living room. Grandma Bessy, even without her glasses on, saw Grandpa Henry grab the last remaining dinner role and go into windup motion.

“Henry! Don’t you dare throw that dinner roll at him!”

Disappointed at having lost the opportunity to fire a dinner-roll at his tormentor, Henry slowly lowered his arm and placed the diner roll back on the plate.

“That’s ok, Grandma, he wouldn’t have hit me with it anyway.”

“Oh yeah?! Here, let me get another one. I’ll hit you right between the eyes.”

“Gentlemen!”

Grandma Gert’s voice shook the room and scared the children.

“Every year we have to listen to you two argue about some nonsensical topic. It ends here!”

Grandma Bessie stepped forward.

“So here’s the deal you two numskulls. Your stupid arguments are spoiling our Thanksgiving dinners. You always think you know more than the other guy, and today you two grown men are engaged in some kind of macho crap… sorry Susie… about who’s tougher, who would have won some stupid wrestling match. Well now’s your chance. Let’s take it outside.”

“Wh… what?”

“Wh… what?”

The two Grandpas appeared confused by the directive.

“Uh… what do you mean by that, Bessie.”

“Henry, you two old geezers have been going at it every Thanksgiving. You say you could take Marvin down, and Marvin says he could take you down. Enough chit-chat. Outside, now! Gert and I will referee. Let’s go. Or are you guys all talk?”

The children, Tom, Susie, Uncle Fred and Aunt Gloria looked on in stunned amazement. Grandpa Henry and Grandpa Marvin, mano a mano, in physical combat. It was indeed a disturbing, distasteful thought, but they all rushed outside to secure good vantage points to witness the spectacle.

The pace of the two Grandpas slowed as they made their way to the backyard arena. They were walking their self-made plank and pondering possible ways out. Years of bravado, boasts and insults had brought them to this point of peril. Both feared the sting of humiliation.

Grandma Bessie had absorbed some of the jargon of the spectacle simply by virtue of being married to Henry.

“Ok, here are the rules. No kicking, biting, or eye gouging. Other than that, there are no rules.”

Grandma Bessie guided Henry and Marvin to their respective starting points, while Grandma Gert had the honor of signaling the commencement of action. (Her sport was Indy Motor Sports.)

“Gentlemen, start your fighting!”

The adults stood in bewildered silence while the children really got into it.

“Tear his head off, Granpa Henry!”

“You’re goin’ down, Grandpa Marvin!”

“Kick his a… butt!”

Henry and Marvin circled each other like riders on a slow merri-go-round, each wishing they were somewhere else. The occasional challenge of a step forward, quickly followed by two in reverse. Eyes met eyes, sending the message, “Discretion is the better part of valor.”

“You know, Henry, some of that WWE stuff can be pretty rough. I guess guys could get hurt jumping off the ropes and doing stuff like that.”

“And some of the stuff can look a little staged, Marvin, even though it is real.”

“And I’m sure they’re not in their underpants.”

“I bet you were a great wrestler in high school, Marvin.”

“Thanks, Henry. What was your favorite move?

“I always liked the lateral drop, and …”

Smiles from the adults, a smattering of boos from the children.