A Turkey I Never Ate

A Turkey I Never Ate.

By Frank Delgado

Everyone has a Kodak moment that is locked in time; like a Thanksgiving where you can still see loved ones dress up, and a turkey at the center surrounded by stuffing and gravy on a long table, long after it happened. A time that you can still hear the sounds of sweet words and waves of laughter that flow like fountains among the family of long ago. Our family had a different experience.

The year was 1961, and we were celebrating our Thanksgiving dinner at my Uncle Pete's new house, my father's eldest brother. His house was beautiful with three bedrooms and two full bathrooms on a big deep lot, and it sat in the middle of the yard. Everyone brought food to share, and the women kept it warm, but there was no turkey. Everyone kept asking, "Where's the turkey? Where's the turkey?"

" Oh, Kiko, went to buy it," said my aunt Ophelia.

So we waited and waited until 3:00 pm, and my father finally returns, holding a turkey with both arms. I have never seen a live turkey before.

Everyone asks him if he was out of his cotton-picking mind buying a live turkey. My Uncle Pete was livid and asked my father why he didn't buy a frozen turkey at the market. My father replied he wanted to make it a special thanksgiving with a fresh turkey, like the old days. There were no old days of killing a turkey, chicken yes, a turkey never.

My uncle laughed and said, " Ok, Kiko, you are going to kill it!"

My father took the turkey outside, and my Uncle Pete got a hatchet from the garage and gave it to him. All the family went outside to watch the execution of the turkey. The women on the porch, the kids, surrounded my father as he stretched the turkey neck across a log. The hatched raised, all eyes fixed on the turkey. My cousins glued in place, waiting for the ax to come down. Kiko jumped up and came down, hacking into the neck of the bird. The turkey bolted upward, its wing knocking the ax out of my father's hand and continue to run around in a circle its head flopping side to side gusting blood, lunging at the crowd. My father took off running.

The women ran inside the house and locked the door; the kids took off running, the small kid scrambled on top of my uncle Pete's car roof. The turkey ran down the street.

I don't remember eating turkey that year, but we had our Kodak Moment.