Andrea's First Thanksgiving

Written by Debbie Beavers

This article is courtesy of  ec: essential connection

Thanksgiving at my house had always been normal, pretty much just like Thanksgiving at all my friends’ homes. That is until last year. That’s the year my mom went over the edge, went nuts, wigged out, entered her mid-life crisis, or whatever else you want to call it.

I figured she was having some sort of reaction to the fact that her mother, my grandmother, had died six months earlier. Mom is just trying to make everything really different because she misses Nanny so much, I thought to myself.

For most of my life, we had always gone to Nanny’s house for Thanksgiving. It was a great time. There would be lots of family there, and it was so much fun. There was also great food. I can still remember all the good smells. Nanny always made sure I got a drumstick from the turkey, and she always baked a chocolate cake for me.

At the beginning of the meal, we would each take a turn telling something we were thankful for. Nanny would always start by saying, “I am so thankful that God has blessed me with a wonderful family!”

Things changed about seven years ago. My grandfather died and my mom’s brother and his family moved to the other side of the country. That’s when we began celebrating holidays at our house. It was weird at first and sad; but we adjusted and it seemed to work really well.

I knew when November rolled around last year something big was up. We’ve gone to the same church since I was in the first grade. My mom has done a little bit of everything at the church: singing in the choir, volunteering in the library, teaching Girls in Action and Mission Friends, working in Sunday School, and serving on every committee you can imagine. A while back, she even helped start a new ministry in our church.

There’s a Children’s Home about 25 minutes away from our house. It’s where they send kids who have been abandoned or abused or who can’t seem to make it in the foster home system. A group of people from church – including Mom – started going there once a week to lead a Bible study. Mom works with a group of girls, and a lot of my friends from the youth group go there to help out. They spend time talking with the kids and doing whatever else they can.

My mom kept asking me if I wanted to go along, but I just couldn’t make myself do it. Mom would come home and talk about all these kids she was meeting. She started talking about one in particular. Her name was Andrea.

Andrea’s father deserted her family when she was three, and her mother died from AIDS when she was eight. She had been in and out of foster homes for seven years when my mom met her. She seemed to click with Mom, and I have to admit I was a little jealous. I didn’t like sharing my mother with someone else. Sure she had done all those other things at church, but this was different. She actually was bonding with another teenager, and I felt sort of threatened.

With that said, you can just imagine how thrilled I was when Mom made a grand announcement about a week before Thanksgiving: “Andrea will be joining us for Thanksgiving dinner.”

I tried to come up with some reason for keeping Andrea away, but I couldn’t think of one that didn’t make me look dumb or mean. I even tried to think of someone else I could go spend the day with, but all my friends were leaving town. I had no choice. I would smile and act happy to meet Andrea, but I secretly was hoping the day would speed by.

Early Thanksgiving morning, Mom came to my room and asked if I would help her get the meal ready. I’d never done that before. Nanny and Mom had always been the ones to cook, but I guessed it was time for me to help. I got up, showered, dressed, and went to the kitchen to help.

“Great, you’re just in time!” Mom said.

“In time for what?” I replied.

“You get to stuff the turkey.”

“But I’ve never done that before; I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s easy; I’ll tell you what you need to do.”

As Mom began telling me the steps, I began stuffing my first turkey. It was an educational experience to say the least!

 “Hold it,” I interrupted at one point. “You want me to use my hands to put stuffing where? I don’t think so. How about I peel potatoes for mashing!” Mom laughed and handed me the vegetable peeler.

“What time will we be eating?” I asked.

“Five o'clock.”

 “What time will Andrea get here?” I asked next, hoping she’d say “4:45.”

“Your dad is picking her up around noon,” Mom answered. “I thought she might like to help us do some of the cooking this afternoon. I thought we might even let her frost the chocolate cake.”

Now that really annoyed me. It was my chocolate cake; and if anyone was going to frost it, it should be me. I decided right then that I definitely did not like Andrea.

My attitude was reinforced the minute she walked into the house. She wasn’t like any of my friends from church. Her hair was short and stuck up like spikes. It seemed to have this maroon glow on the ends. She had a pierced brow, and I just knew I’d seen a tattoo on her upper arm when she was taking off her coat. Still, I smiled, said “hello,” and quickly returned to the kitchen.

After Mom gave her a tour of the house, the two of them came to the kitchen so we could finish cooking dinner. The time seemed to fly by. We really had a good time. We laughed; and even though I tried really hard to dislike Andrea, I couldn’t. She was shy, but she also was really funny. When Mom told her she could frost the cake, she said she didn’t know how. I offered to show her, and we ended up doing it together while I told her about the cakes Nanny always made for me.

Andrea looked sad for a minute. “I wish I had a grandmother,” she said when I asked her what was wrong. “I’ve missed out on so much family stuff.”

I didn’t know what to say. I’d never really thought about it. I guess I had always taken my family for granted. Thankfully, Mom called us to the dining room before the conversation went any further.

Promptly at 5 p.m., we gathered around the table to eat. We began with our family tradition of naming a blessing. When it was Andrea’s turn she said, “I am so thankful to be able to be with a family today. I am thankful to have met a woman who cared enough about me to invite me into her home, and, even more, to tell me about Jesus.”

It was at that moment I realized just how thankful I was for my mom, my dad, and my whole family. And I realized that I didn’t care if my mom had gone nuts. I wanted to be just like her.

Now a year has gone by, and it has been a strange one. This Thanksgiving will be sort of the same, but totally different. This year Andrea won’t be coming over for dinner. This year Andrea is home for Thanksgiving, and she is with her family.

When it’s time to tell what we’re thankful for, I’ll say, “I’m thankful to God for Andrea, my new sister!”

Share your thoughts with other readers:  Post Comments   Rate this Article