Long ago, some up the
street neighbors would never buy a turkey for Thanksgiving: The man was stingy
as all get out. Supposing his wife was
as well. But they had two kids—a boy and a girl, both of whom loved to tell
everyone in the neighborhood that they never had a turkey for Thanksgiving.
Never.
Everyone felt sorry
for the kids but dared not ask why for all knew the answer. Stinginess abounded
in their house plain and simple.
I remember offering
the boy a turkey sandwich the day after Thanksgiving and he devoured it. “I’ve
never tasted turkey before” he told me. “Yes, I know” was my reply. Felt pity
and sorrow for not only him but for his sister as well. His sister was not out
of the house much or I would have offered her a sandwich.
The year went whizzing
by and it was almost time for Thanksgiving again. I dreaded the cooking and the cleaning but
when all was finished, it was well worth it to present a lovely turkey dinner
for my family and friends. Mostly, I just sat at the table in a stupor as do most
that fix a huge meal but I finally succumbed to a few bites of this and a few
bites of that. “Leftovers would be even better” I always said to myself.
Both of my sons went
out to play after the huge dinner and it wasn’t long before one came in and
screamed “You will never believe what the boy up the street told me!” “What?” I
asked. “A pheasant flew into the open kitchen window in the stingy people’s
house up the street.” “You’ve got to be kidding” I remarked. “No, the boy told
me that his dad picked it up and its neck was broken. His mom cooked the
pheasant for Thanksgiving dinner.” “Do you know what a pheasant is?” I asked my
son. “Yes. Well, I’ve seen pictures of one before” was his answer.
I just stood there
stunned as did my relatives.
Was it a miracle that
the pheasant just flew to their window? I can’t help but think that it was for
there was no way that either parent would have spent that much money to buy one
at a store. Gratefulness washed over me
thinking how the children must have enjoyed that once in a life time meal.
Remember seeing the
boy days after Thanksgiving and he told me the entire story. Said it was the
best dinner he’d ever had or his sister. No, I wasn’t about to ask if they had
mashed potatoes, stuffing and the like for who knew?
That was the only
time that a pheasant had been seen up here where I live and still is to this
day. At least their Thanksgiving had
been miraculous to say the least—why the dinner flew into their window. How
many times does that happen?
Sherry Hill
Published in the
Charleston Gazette Mail
November 15, 2015
