Give thanks to the turkey! A eulogy of sorts....

My great aunt had her funeral yesterday. I didn't go- largely because of work, but also because I really hate funerals. I rationalize not going by reasoning that I never really knew my great aunt well, though I do have one memory that lingers.

It was Thanksgiving Day and I was six or seven years old. I had been shooed out of the kitchen all morning by my mother and sisters and was now looking at the spread table with all the excitement of a rather large chihuahua running after table scraps. The table was filled with fresh baked rolls that smelled like butter. There were bowls full of stuffing, mashed potatoes and my mom's famous gravy. And in a starring role, just inches from me, was a perfectly golden turkey. I could barely contain myself.

Looking around the table, I could see that the family was eager to eat as well. My two sisters were eying the warm rolls. My three brothers, like me, had their eyes on the turkey. There were two turkey legs and four of us... Only my father was indifferent to the food, seated at his recliner, with an eye on the game.

As my mother carved the turkey, a special guest, my great aunt looked at her sternly from her small seat of honor at the head of the table. It was unusual for us all to be seated at the table, usually at Thanksgiving we grabbed food and spread out throughout the house, but my great aunt's presence demanded a certain formality.

"Se ve que le pusiste mucho esfuerzo a la comida, Nancy." said my great Aunt in Spanish.

"What? Oh. yes, it took a lot to put this together. I hope..espero que te guste." replied my mother, graciously as she expertly sliced the big bird.

The moment, my mom put down the knife, my brother snaked an arm across the table and grabbed one of the turkey legs. There was a brief commotion as one of my sisters reached over for a roll and the rest of us leaned forward to serve ourselves.

"Jesu Christo. Que hacen?" came a voice that froze us all in mid air "Todavia no le damos gracias al senor." By this she meant that we had yet to say grace, which was definitely not a tradition in our house.

I thought for a half second and then quipped; "Gracias al senor? Ok, Thanks papa." and grabbed the second turkey leg. Everyone but my aunt laughed. A free for all assault on the food followed.

My aunt never came back to our house after that, but it became a yearly tradition to thank the "senor" or my Dad at the Estolano house.

I hope that my great aunt in heaven, looks down at us not as heretics, but with a sense of humor about religion and family. I hope also that my uncle, who offered a middle finger as his final words to priests coming to see him, is also looking down at us with a smile.

In this world, we take religion too seriously and don't leave much room for the idea that God has a sense of humor and a keen understanding about the people that he created. Too many people have died over differences in religion when the real differences between us as people really aren't that great. Most of us could be friends under the right circumstances- maybe over a turkey leg.