The giant Kay’s Ice Cream sign meant we were almost there. It was a giant ice cream cone– and was the unofficial gateway to Maryville, Tennessee, the town where both sets of my grandparents lived. My sisters and I had been in crammed in the car for two and a half hours as we drove in from Georgia. Excitement, anticipation and hunger built as we drove into town. We went past the high school and then came to a split in the road. Right and it was to the Marshall house on Wilson Avenue. Straight and it was on to the Ramsey house on Sevierville Rd. Awaiting us were hugs, casseroles and elderly relatives who ate like locusts with thyroid problems. I could see the snow-capped Smokey Mountains in the distance. I still can when I close my eyes.
It was Thanksgiving. And I’m so thankful for those memories.
I can hear the gravel of my grandparents’ driveway. I can see the white picket fence at my other grandparents’ home. I can taste the pies and pickles. I can remember plucking packs of gum from my Uncle Frank’s coat pocket. Seeing him was always a treat. I loved seeing my dad’s brother and sister when they were in town. I’d cheer when my dad’s cousin Charlie and his wife Barbara would pull in from Florida. I’d take a nap on the floor in front of the TV broadcasting the Macy’s parade. I remember the smell of my grandfather’s aftershave. He’d be waiting for us in his chair by the front door. I can’t drive by their old home on Wilson Avenue now without seeing him there waiting. Or at least wishing he was.
I know I’ll see him again. I’ll see all of them again. Someday.
Forty years later, we’ll make another trip to grandma’s house. But it won’t be to Maryville. That chapter is closed. I hope my boys have the same fond memories of Thanksgiving I have. And I hope they’re hanging on to them as tightly as I am hanging on to mine.
It’s easy to misplace Thanksgiving between Christmas and Halloween. Some say it is forgotten. I guess that’s easy to believe in this screwed up, narcissistic world we live in. But it will never truly be gone. Nope. Because you can’t lose something that’s buried so deeply in your heart.