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Show O: Terni D9CflaDeIk h f ir- by David Fleisher A Thanksgiving memory Editor's note: The following "Ten O'clock Whistle" column was first printed in the Park Record of Nov. 23, 1978. It is being reprinted at popular request. Thanksgiving in Opelika... When I was growing uplh the South," I spent many Thanksgiving holidays with my grandparents in Opelika, Alabama. These were times I will never forget because the annual visits to Opelika instilled in me a strong sen-; sen-; se of family unity. It's difficult to describe what it was like being with all my. cousinsJauntsJ. uncles and especially my grandparents grandpar-ents at Thanksgiving. My grandparents lived in a large three-bedroom house located on the corner of a busy high- way. In November the leaves would ' fall and swirl around on the lawn in : their front yard. The children, in-": in-": eluding myself, would play in the yard and hope (at least I did) that it would ; snow that night after Thanksgiving dinner. While we played outside in the ; cool air, the grownups would sit on the porch and talk business or politics, r Inside, the house smelled of turkey, dressing, and cranberry sauce. My grandmother and her daughters (my ; aunts) prepared the afternoon dinner ' which was always impossible to finish; the table looked like a banquet. " "What's the matter? You don't eat," my grandmother would invariably say after I had eaten double portions of everything. I was the youngest person in the house and I felt I could do anything I wanted, using my age as an excuse. I would run back to the kitchen while everybody else was either finishing Thanksgiving dinner or talking about politics and visit the black maid who had been working in my grandparent's house for years and years. For some reason, she always called me "Mr. David" and she took a sincere interest in my school work. Without her being in that house all those years, things just wouldn't have been the same. I looked forward every Thanksgiving to seeing her. "My! How you've grown," she would say when first seeing me. After dinner, I liked to look through old yearbooks belonging to my father. My aunts and uncles had their yearbooks year-books in the bookcase too. I couldn't get over how different they looked when they attended the University of Alabama and Auburn. I would stare at these yearbooks for long periods of time and wonder what it would be like when I went off to college. Before going to sleep, I looked outside, out-side, checking to see if it had snowed yet. But it rarely did.. .Opelika is not known for having major snow storms. My cousin and I would share the same bedroom and talk about what we were going to do the next day. He was more aggressive than I was, so I always let him make the plans. I could hear my grandparents talking in the other bedroom before I fell off to sleep. And they spoke about us: me, my cousins, my parents, my uncles and aunts. It seemed as if their whole world revolved around us. My grandparents were married for 50 years, and she called him by his last name for as long as I can remember. "Fleisher," she would call him. His first name was Abraham. On Thanksgiving she would yell his name out and it would echo throughout the house. My grandfather enjoyed sitting in a chair and eating oranges and talking about how I was doing in school. He showed a love for all of us, though, not just me. My grandparents died years ago, but as trite as it may sound, I don't think they ever left. Their spirit has transcended tran-scended to the rest of the family. "This is the fun house," my uncle said to me on Thanksgiving. And he was right. It was a fun house. But more importantly, it was full of warmth and love. And I will never forget. |