Special Delivery


I post this same stupid picture each year, I think.

If I don’t post it, I definitely snap the same shot year in, year out.

This is a picture of my Dad and my Uncle Sam, moments before they “delivered the stuffing” and carved the turkey on Thanksgiving day.  (Sam, for what it’s worth, is not technically my uncle, but explaining that would take far more words than simply calling him what he essentially has always been to me.)

The “Delivery of the Stuffing” is a Thanksgiving tradition in our house, unlike any other. It’s when they remove the in-bird stuffing from the turkey before they begin carving.  Except, they wear silly hats and stage a full-scale birth re-enactment, complete with screams and howls and the entire family joining in.  Someone inevitably pulls the cheesecloth bag full of stuffing out of the bird, triumphant, and someone else starts screaming like a newborn.

We have done this for probably 20 years.  It never gets less funny.

These two dudes, though, are special.  They have survived life and loss and change, and are so bonded in so many ways.  They even managed to have open heart surgeries within weeks of each other — so close that they wouldn’t each have to experience that strange world alone.

And I am grateful to have them; grateful for the old, tired, overworked and overused inside jokes.  I am thankful that as the family grows, the heart expands.

I am mostly, totally, infinitely grateful that I get to snap this silly photo each year.

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