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The Thanksgiving Boss
by Tom Henderson
All men are born knowing certain things. This includes knowing ... okay, nothing really. Let´s face it. If men chose occupations based on their intellectual gifts, an unfortunate percentage of us would be working as speed bumps.
Yet something in the deepest coils of the male psyche tells him two things from the earliest stages of fetal development:
1. He knows how to carve a turkey.
2. Anyone else who tries to carve a turkey is only going to mess it up.
This is why a father never passes his turkey-carving skills onto his offspring. His son would only turn into Freddy Krueger and hack the poor bird into oblivion. And his daughter? Oh, God help us. Everyone would be lucky to leave with the same number of limbs they arrived with.
Carving a turkey is definitely a one-man job. And every human male knows he is that man. It is a heavy cross to bear. He knows everyone´s Thanksgiving experience depends on him. The only way to give them a holiday experience that doesn´t result in post-traumatic stress syndrome is to perform this delicate turkey-ectomy himself.
This remains the case even when the family patriarch is 87 years old. His hands may be a bit unstable. Heck, they may register more flaps per minute than the average hummingbird. Still, when the family gathers at Grandpa´s house, it's his show.
Take the patriarch of my family. My father — or Grandpa, as he has come to be known by even by his own children — is not a man who should be trusted with sharp objects. This has nothing to do with age. It has always been thus. There´s a reason his parents didn´t name him Grace.
When my son and I visit Grandma and Grandpa, we play a game I like to call "Name That Wound." Dad comes to the door, and his hand is wrapped in white bandages. The Egyptians used less linen on King Tut.
"Uh, Dad?," I say. "Mickey Mouse called. He wants his hand back."
What follows is an epic tale of valor as Grandpa explains just how he got his hand caught in the juicer. My favorite story, however, was "The Tale of the Thanksgiving Candle." Once upon a time, Grandpa decided a particularly fat candle was also too tall, so he decided to shorten it. The candle was too thick to cut through with the average steak knife. So Grandpa took a blowtorch to the knife so it would cut through the candle like the proverbial hot knife through butter.
It did. It also cut off a nice piece of white meat off Grandpa´s hand. Ah, the miracles of modern medicine. An emergency-room doctor — I think his name was Frankenstein — neatly stitched the hand back together. Grandpa takes these sorts of incidents in stride.
"Good Lord," visitors will say as he greets them. "Didn´t you used to have five fingers on that hand?"
"Oh, that," he replies with a shrug. "Had a little shaving accident."
What´s really disturbing about this is that the man uses an electric shaver.
And this is the same man who insists on giving the rest of the family turkey confetti. I indulge his Thanksgiving tyranny even though, as a man, I know he is doing everything wrong. Still, it is his house. He has the right to carve the turkey and lose as many appendages as he sees fit.
I just wish he would let me help. I know a lot more about the physiology of the turkey. I know, for instance, it´s dead. It can no longer hear you. So yelling "You $#@! stupid bird!" at it is not going to help. It´s not the turkey´s fault that the white meat isn´t falling off it in nice juicy slices. In this case, you really have to go with pilot error.
The grand patriarch does know one thing. The most important part of cutting pieces of meat off a Thanksgiving turkey is the one-for-them-two-for-me rule. For every piece of meat you place on the plate for family consumption, you eat two yourself.
This not only covers your carving services, but ensures your beloved family isn´t consuming a poisoned turkey. Grandfathers are nothing if not valiant souls at Thanksgiving, always ready to throw themselves on those plump, succulent grenades.
"If anything bad is going to happen as a result of eating this bird, dear God, let happen to me first. And if not, hey, more for me."
My own grandfather was the true carving genius in the family. You should have seen him clean fish. He could remove meat from a salmon with such surgical precision that the salmon hardly missed it. Unfortunately, such gifts skip a generation. One day when I ascend the throne as the family patriarch, the assembled masses will know I should have been carving the turkey all along. I’ve already spent the $19.95 on the Ginsu knives.
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17 Answers
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Me, the Grandpa, of course.
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Me, the Grandma, naturally.
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My son/daughter does the honors.
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Crazy Uncle Louie.
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We have it sliced and served to us!
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| Bout' the turkey carving and other meal preparing /serving duties, I've come to discover that it's best that things are shared...Now try convincing my mother-in-law of these facts, then I will admit that you guys are better than me...lol
Signed, Surrendered....
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| We have eaten at my daughter's home for a number of years now. and since we eat dinner buffet style she has usually sliced the turkey and had it on a serving platter ahead of time. One year recently though her husband, my son-in-law had been watching cooking shows on TV and learned how to carve a turkey and did a very good job of it. I only remember him doing that once and so I don't know if he did it this most recent time. Anyway when I went over to their house, which was next door, the turkey was aleady on the platter. So what do I know. Purple lady
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