Before I know it, Thanksgiving is upon us.  Just like that. Even though I usually pretty much dig the holidays, I am just not into it this year. Don’t want to mix with people now. Don’t feel like making small talk with the SWAT team of something like one-hundred-and-twenty ravenous, loud relatives. Aunts, uncles, grandmothers and cousins are about to descend on the house. A bunch of them are making the annual journey here from the hallowed ancestral grounds of Brooklyn, for the feast. Mostly, I guess, I’m just not up to fending off the inevitable artillery of questions and barbs regarding my somewhat shaggy afro, my glasses, and especially, my clothes. My purple pants and purple silk screen shirt, particularly, seems to really provoke white people. My father, for one, despises that ensemble.

“You look like one of those goddamned fruits from The Ice Capades, for crissakes, prancing around here in that get up.”

My sisters are calling me “Rooster,” in reference to the black pimp character from Baretta.  

Thanksgiving arrives anyway, despite my foreboding. All the siblings and cousins wind up sitting at one long table in the living room, as usual. It reminds me of the painting of The Last Supper I saw at Esperanza’s house. The heavy-duty adults occupy two other tables in the dining room.

I remain sullen, until about the time tales from the old days begin circulating around the table. Then I just can’t help but join in on the guffawing and the fun, and pretty soon my mood lightens up considerably. It’s like somebody turns on a cosmic switch, and everything is brighter. I’m in my element now - I’m in the storytelling spotlight. I go into the one about the time that me, Ricky, and Skinny somehow convince Daniel Webb to let us make a dummy using his best Sunday clothes, and one of his mother’s Styrofoam wig-heads.  While me and Ricky are laying it down on the curb to scare the shit out of cars and passer-byes, Skinny sneaks up to the payphone and calls the cops. Like, five minutes later, the cops pull up - we scatter - and they load the dummy into their trunk and drive away. With Daniel’s pants legs hanging out!

Man, the look on his face when he has to tell his mother! Oh shit, now that is funny… especially when she has to go down to the police station to reclaim the clothes! He gets a few raps on the head. We’re all howling, everybody taking turns recounting their stories, although we’re always interrupting each other with forgotten details. I’m secretly sneaking red wine from the adult’s table into my glass of Coke, and everything is a belly laugh.  Man, I love those belly laughs. The feast part is finishing up, night has already fallen, and we all agree to embark on our most recent tradition (the second year) of getting together with the McBride sisters. All of us, my sisters, my cousins - everybody - to go see a movie at Park Theater. I’m buzzed pretty good now, and the idea of seeing Kyla again has me all perked up. I dash up to my room, and pluck a joint from my Sucrets box of secret stash. It’s ulterior motive time.