Hanksgiving 2024

Every year, I like to wish my friends and family a happy THanksgiving. I’ll send them a photo of Tom Hanks and tell them the Hanks vehicle I’m most hankful for. (It’s often Bosom Buddies or Joe versus the Volcano.) Sometimes I’ll switch it up a little and make it a CHanksgiving, and send a photo of Colin. So far, my favorite vehicle is Season 1 of Fargo. Maybe that will change someday. Honestly, I’m glad Chet is still going by Chet Haze, as far as I know. The guy amuses me, but I’m not hankful for his appearance on Atlanta. (That first Ziwe interview of his is a pure scream, though.) And now the holiday has come and gone—along with my forty-fifth birthday.

The plan was that my brother Mikey would drive out to Baton Rouge from his home in Atlanta, and then we’d all head to Houston together. A couple hiccups made us pivot so that we drove out there separately. Mikey’s got a major project coming up at the end of the year that complicates timing just a bit, I’ve got the novel I’m working on, and then Kechi and I are both working on Pervirgin together. That’s a lot of spinning plates, even before factoring in the constant work on my health. I’ve also been having a difficult time with sleep, off and on, for the past couple weeks, and god knows it’s much easier to do everything once one has had decent rest.

On Thanksgiving morning, the three of us—along with Kechi’s sister and some other relatives—went on the four-mile Pearland Turkey Trot. This was not my idea, but my issue wasn’t with the exercise itself. I was pretty sure I was up to it, and I was right. It was only four miles. For me, the problem was getting up at 6 am on a holiday. I’m not naturally an early riser. We did it, though, and earned ourselves participation medals. (We did come in dead last, but none of us were interested in competing.) Kechi’s sister Uche ran the 6-mile version, and I believe she came in fourth, over-all.

Ordinarily I do most of my walking with Karate, and I suspected dogs weren’t allowed in the race—I was wrong about that, though. We decided not to bring Karate to Texas with us because having my brother in the car would have made things a little tight. By the time we realized we’d be taking two separate cars, we’d already paid the dog sitter/walker, so we opted to leave him at home anyway. He would have loved the race. One of his favorite things is to collect compliments and pets from strangers, and I’m sure he would have been a hit with the other racers just as he is with most everyone else.

It was my brother’s first-ever visit to Texas, and he loved it. This wasn’t exactly a surprise to me, as I know him well, and I know the Texas vibe, too. Mikey is the first person from my family to meet with Kechi’s family. We’re still figuring out logistics for everyone to meet, and since I wasn’t able to go to Maryland for the holidays, it was important to have him with me. The celebration went off without a hitch. I didn’t do any cooking this time as I had to catch up on sleep as best I could after the Turkey Trot.

The night before Thanksgiving was difficult, in terms of grief. My brother Brandon’s absence is especially difficult to bear during the holidays. Some of my favorite memories of us together are of Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations when the whole family would eat and then sit down to watch some God-awful blockbuster movie that we’d laugh at together before breaking off to see something we might actually like at the local multiplex. It’s hard not to feel the hole his passing tore in my world, in my family. Especially in a year full of firsts. That same night before Thanksgiving, another dear family friend passed. He was eighty years old, and he’d lived a good long life, but sometimes it feels as if these absences stack up to make missing my people all the more painful.

 Friday morning, we all headed back to Baton Rouge. Mikey took a little detour to find himself a cowboy hat. He never struck me as the cowboy type, but I suppose he found the Texas spirit particularly seductive. On the way home, I did find out that my short story, “Good Night Gracie,” which originally appeared in New Suns 2, had made Ellen Datlow’s recommended reading list for Best Horror of the Year volume 16. That story came directly from a dream I had, and I’m particularly proud of it—especially since I first read it aloud at our final Dogfish Holiday reading in 2020. I’ve been reading Datlow’s anthologies—particularly the best-ofs since before I got into the field, and being acknowledged that way means a lot to me—especially now that so many of my friends share the honor.

Of course we didn’t do much Friday night. We ate sandwiches made from left-over holiday brisket and I think we probably watched a little TV before going to bed. The next morning, we got up bright and early because Kechi had a photo shoot in New Orleans. I hung out and did a little business at the Bean Gallery on Carrollton, then afterwards, we secured a cake, got our feet done, checked my brother into his hotel and swam a little before having dinner at Costera.

 I’ve been curious about Spanish food for a long time. I don’t have much experience with it, though my older brother was born in Spain. I liked the food, though, so soon after Thanksgiving, some of it was a little rich for my tastes—which is not normally an issue for me. I will also say that when we walked in for our reservation and let the restaurant know we had a birthday cake with us, they told us that there was a “plating fee” of $3 per slice. We promptly turned around and put the cake back in the car. If we hadn’t been so tired, I might have looked elsewhere for dinner. In the end, they offered to slice the cake for free.

We considered heading over to the Railyard after dinner. Our friend Jade had produced a Don’t Tell comedy show there, and if the birthday dinner hadn’t conflicted with it, we would have attended. Still, all that travel back and forth, all that social and family time, had taken its toll, so we retreated to Baton Rouge and did pretty much nothing all of Sunday. I’m still catching up on sleep, but I’m feeling good and ready to get back into the swing of things—both in the gym and on the page.

Since I hit my mid-thirties, I ask myself the same question for every birthday: do I have more of what I want out of life? Having been through my first major holiday and my first milestone birthday as a married man, feeling good about my creative work and career, the answer is an emphatic yes. I even managed to do a lot of holiday and birthday celebrating without gaining any weight—which is a first for me. AND, by the time we made it home, my first-ever pair of middle-aged-man glasses had arrived. I have progressive lenses now, and I know it was a good idea to buy them because I like them a lot. I think we’re staying put for Christmas, though.

I want you to know, though, that I’m hankful for anyone who takes the time to read these musings.