MormonSpeak: The gift of Thanksgiving

Mom had The Gift. So did Dad, only his gift was different from Moms. But every Thanksgiving their gifts came together in a wondrous mix of the temporal and the divine.

For Mom, that meant cooking. Mom wasnt just a good cook; she was an artist. She could take Spam and do things with it that made you wish there really was such a thing as a Spam animal — and that you had been born one. She could turn a pot of beans and a few hot dogs into a dish so extraordinary you thought perhaps you would order beanie-weenies the next time you dined at the Ritz. And her liver and onions . . . trust me. Heaven.

Thanksgiving, then, provided Mom with the perfect canvas for the full palette of her culinary colors. The turkey was hand-basted and stuffed with made-from-scratch dressing. The potatoes — real potatoes — were mashed and covered with her rich stewed chicken gravy. The yams were brown sugar-glazed and covered with enough gooey melted marshmallows to almost make them palatable to a confirmed non-yammer like me. Then there were the homemade rolls, apricot jam, mustard pickles and pumpkin, banana cream and coconut cream pies. It was always incredible — and incredibly good.

Think of her as Michelangelo, and Thanksgiving dinner as her David. Only she created her David every year for more than 40 years.

Dads special gift was less appetizing, but it was every bit as much a part of our Thanksgiving tradition. Dad was a praying man. And not your common, ordinary, now I lay me down to sleep sort of a praying man. When Dad prayed, angels stopped whatever they were doing to take notes. In my lifetime Ive heard Dad pray lost dogs home, lost businesses solvent and lost children righteous. He was to praying what Michael Jordan was to dunking. If there wasnt a God when he started praying, you just knew thered be one by the time he said Amen.

Dad was an articulate man who had a way with a phrase. Folks who did business with him said he could tell you to go to the fiery infernal regions in such a way that youd look forward to the trip. So when Thanksgiving rolled around and it was time to give thanks for Moms latest gastronomical triumph, no one was better suited to the task than Dad. His prayers were always ponderous and profound, but on Thanksgiving they became epic — the Lords Prayer Meets War and Peace.

What can I say? He had The Gift.

Generally, Mom and Dads gifts blended remarkably well each Thanksgiving. Dad made sure to be properly thankful for the loving hands which have prepared this magnificent repast, and Mom made sure to keep everything warm on the stove until God had been properly thanked for all the work that Mom had done.