THANKSGIVING
By
Michael
Edwin Q.
Holiday cheer filed
the house, laughter of children and adults alike. A fine turkey feast covered
the long dining table, leaving not even room left for an olive. Everyone sat
down, their eyes wide as their smiles. Seated at the head of the table, Woodrow
struck the side of his glass till all were quiet. He looked down the long table
and smiled at the frail old woman seated at the far corner of the table.
"Aunt Connie, why don't you honor us by saying
grace?" he said.
The old woman smiled back. "Why, Woodrow, this
is your home, and you are head of the family. It is only right that you be the
one to say grace."
Woodrow chuckled loudly. "Aunt Connie, all of us
know you're the only churchgoer seated here." He laughed and everyone
laughed. "None of us would even know were to start," Woodrow said.
"So please, lead us in saying grace."
The old woman rested her folded hands on the table;
she bowed her head, and closed her eyes. Everyone did the same.
She spoke loud and clear.
"Dear Lord, here we are again, it's
Thanksgiving. The time when we take a whole thirty seconds to give you thanks.
Of course, we don't even think about you the rest of the year, and the only
time we mention your name is when we want to curse something. In fact, we
couldn't give a rat's hair if you exist or not, because either way we're going
to do whatever we want to do. So, it really doesn’t matter. Well, our thirty
seconds are up; talk to you next year. Amen."
All the guests said, "Amen."
"Thank you, Aunt Connie, that was
beautiful," Woodrow said, rubbing his palms together. "Now, who wants
a drumstick?"
THE END
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