Gratitude, Traditions, and Sweet Potato Casserole

It was our first year living far away from our families, too far to fly home for Thanksgiving Day. We were in our twenties, expecting our first child, and feeling acute pangs of being homesick. We were thankful to be invited to a Thanksgiving dinner but unprepared for what we walked into. My husband (now my ex) and I came from similar middle-class backgrounds where Thanksgiving dinners always included a huge turkey at the center, with people bringing different side dishes all heaped onto my parents’ ancient buffet. There were usually at least twenty people, and happy chaos reigned while TV football provided the background noise. After dinner, there was a game of flag football in the yard or at least a Frisbee being thrown around.

Thanksgiving Then…

This was not the experience we had on our first Thanksgiving living halfway across the country. I knew we had missed the mark when we walked in, clad in jeans and sweaters, carrying our Pyrex container of sweet potato casserole. I looked for a place to secretly ditch the Pyrex when I saw the formal table set with china and crystal, complete with classical music playing in the background. Our paltry contribution, our casual apparel, and our middle-class roots were all way off the mark! Our hosts were the type of family that probably “dressed for dinner“ on a regular basis. There was no buffet overflowing with food. Our Cornish game hen dinner with sides of asparagus and roasted squash was discreetly plated in the kitchen and presented to us. The holiday dinner was so fancy that I almost expected ballroom dancing to be the post-dinner activity. We were clearly out of our league, but we were grateful to be included in a family gathering.

By the next Thanksgiving, there were three of us, and we were back in familiar territory. We took advantage of my parents’ hospitality and happily joined the crowd of siblings, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, and friends. I’m sure we made some pathetic contributions, like bottles of pop or store-bought rolls, but honestly, we were mooches.

No matter how old we get, we regress to being children when we’re at our parents’ house. I didn’t see that my parents were getting older and tired. I thought they would live forever and still be hosting bountiful Thanksgiving dinners into infinity. I couldn’t imagine my mom’s famous pies not sitting temptingly on the Harvest Gold Formica countertops. I thought my dad would somehow be immortal, and he would forever be making his sweet potato casserole recipe from the tattered but cherished old cookbook. My parents are long gone, and those homey holiday gatherings are simply memories that cling to my soul. I wish I could say I expressed my gratitude appropriately, but I took them for granted until it was too late.

…and Now

Now, I am the mother, the grandmother, the hostess, the matriarch of the clan. How can that be true when I still feel I should be sitting at the children’s table? Like every old person, I wonder how time has gone by so fast. Thanksgiving looks different now, especially since we moved to a small house almost two years ago. Reminiscent of holidays at my parents’ house, we are a motley crew of friends and family. What’s different is that my adult kids and their spouses do a much better job of contributing. I almost feel a little guilty because they do most of the work, but the truth is, they’re better cooks than I am! I’m thankful for them.

Martha Stewart would cringe if she saw our little house bursting at the seams with people sitting at makeshift tables scattered about. We don’t have Pinterest-worthy place settings or centerpieces, but we will splurge on the fancy, heavy-duty paper plates. I like the ones with separate compartments, so my food doesn’t touch.  At one time, we had matching silverware. I promise we did, but now we have way too many knives and never enough forks. Sadly, a few of our spoons show evidence of being chewed on by the garbage disposal.  Nothing ever seems to match. The state of our silverware might be symbolic of our lives in some way, but I prefer not to think about that dark possibility.

Embracing Happy Chaos

We may be found lacking by Martha Stewart’s standards, but we make up for it in happiness. Anyone who shows up at my house for Thanksgiving is not there for the décor. They are there for food, friendship, and fun. There won’t be classical music or football in the background, but there might be the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Kids will be running through the house, adults will be talking, and my poor, anxious cat will be hiding under a bed. I predict happy chaos, and I am deeply grateful for that.

I’ve had sixty-six Thanksgivings so far. Some have been far away from home, most with family, and a few were spent alone. Some years, the food was sparse, but most years, it was plentiful. I’m grateful for each and every one of my sixty-six Thanksgivings, but especially the ones filled with family. Whatever your circumstances this year, I wish you a hearty meal, good company, a heart full of gratitude, and a big heaping of sweet potato casserole!

My Dad’s Sweet Potato Casserole

There are so many variations on sweet potato casseroles. Everyone thinks theirs is the best, but here is my dad’s recipe that puts the others to shame!

Filling

• 3 cups mashed sweet potatoes
• 1 cup granulated sugar
• 1 stick melted butter
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 2 beaten eggs

Topping

• 1 cup brown sugar
• 1/3 cup melted butter
• 1/2 cup flour
• 1 cup chopped pecans

Mix filling ingredients together and put in a casserole dish. Cover with topping. (I often double the topping, which makes it more like a dessert than a side dish.)

Bake uncovered at 350 degrees for thirty minutes.