There was no traveling to friends or family on Thanksgiving. Maybe we took walks uptown to see Christmas windows, but never the parade. The day was for other families. And, other than the time Seymour won a turkey, Thanksgiving was more about Florence's birthday or the feeling of impending storms when suddenly all four of us were in the house together.
Leaving home was not just a change of address; it was also a chance to try on all those big holidays I saw on TV or in books. Soon, I got pretty good at finagling trips to friends' houses and unsuspecting relatives. And soon, I came to expect spending the holiday in some traditional or conventional way. Until one Thanksgiving when everything changed and life was never the same.
That it was at my sister's was rare enough. What was also rare, at least to Florence, was all that food.
As they say, roll tape.
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