Thanksgiving is a generational holiday in our family. When Sandra and I first married, we spent Thanksgiving Day at her mother’s house. Her mom, Rebie Dawson, was an old-fashioned farm cook. When Rebie fed us, we were fed. A typical Thanksgiving spread was turkey and dressing, ham, creamed potatoes, corn, lima beans, field fields, string beans, collard greens, and homemade biscuits.

As the years passed, Thanksgiving festivities moved to our house – and passed to us, the next generation. Sandra’s mom often contributed to the meal by baking homemade biscuits in our oven and helping Sandra with the veggies. The menu was still the same, except sometimes we did not have ham.

During those bye-gone years, Sandra still cooked. At that time, when Sandra fed us, we were fed. Small wonder that during the first six months we were married, I gained 30 pounds. I still have most of them.

During the past years, hosting Thanksgiving festivities moved to another generation. Our daughter Rachel hosts our Thanksgiving meal and what we have come to call “Thanksmas,” our family’s holiday that combines Thanksgiving and Christmas. All my children and their spouses contribute dishes to the meal. Sandra and I took a Jackie Hardison Strawberry Cake. By taking the cake, we could contribute – and Sandra did not have to cook.

(I once threatened to remove the burners on the stove and replace them with flowerpots. One year, I hid Sandra’s Christmas present in the oven at our house. If a son-in-law had not asked her to make chocolate pies that year, her gift would still be at home in the range to this day.)

We still have collard greens, but the next generation has added sweet potato soufflé and Brussel sprouts. Michael and Pam bring the ham while Joe and Rachel prepare the turkey. We had the traditional roasted turkey this year, but Joe also made barbeque turkey on the grill. We still had corn and green beans. In place of Rebie’s homemade biscuits, we had dinner rolls.

All 12 of our grandchildren came to the celebration. Eight came with their parents, but my four adult grandchildren came from their residences. The adult grandkids participate in our adult gift-giving practice of “Dirty Santa.”

I supervise the overall process. Few folks realize I have holes in my eyelids that allow me to observe even when I appear to have nodded off. We arrived around 11:30 a.m. to find that Rachel had prepared two trays of appetizers. She called them – or maybe just one tray – by some French name I did not catch. Joe and Rachel were putting the finishing touches on their contributions to our feast.

By 2 p.m., everyone had gathered, and we had the Thanksgiving Day prayer for the meal. Since I hobble around like a wounded horse waiting to be put out of its misery, Rachel fixed my plate. I pulled my Rollator up to the table to claim my spot, sipped coffee, and waited as 24 people made their way through three tables of food.

Several years ago, Joe and Rachel decided to buy special “Thanksgiving Day” plates. They are large, sectioned – and washable. Rachel pulled rank to make my plate. She brought me both kinds of turkey, a slice of ham, lima beans, green beans, and sweet potato soufflé. She also avoided putting bread and creamed potatoes on my plate, as I requested. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love bread and creamed potatoes – but I love them too much.

By 3 p.m., the time had arrived for the eight younger grandkids to open their gifts. Then the adults participated in the “Dirty Santa” exchange. Believe me, “Dirty Santa” can get pretty cutthroat. We have a rule that no gift cannot be taken more than twice to keep things moving at a brisk pace.

When I climbed into my car to head home a little after 4:30 p.m., the joy I felt was palpable. Not joy that I was leaving – but the joy that I could be with my entire family – no drama, no spats, no idiocy. Just love.

Mike Parker is a columnist for the Neuse News. You can reach him at mparker16@gmail.com.