Excluded

She spent all of the days leading up to Thanksgiving planning and purchasing, preparing and packaging, developing a festive menu that would delight all the members of her family. She made sure each dish was made to the specifications of those who loved it, never straying from the tried and true recipes for certain edifices of the holiday table.

The dishes were reminiscent of the family meals of her childhood; meals that were cooked by her beloved Southern aunties and grandmothers and cousins, all of whom had their own specialty and assigned task.

First was always the preparation of the turkey. It had to be defrosted for days, historically in the bathtub, but now in a large cooler, never too fast. The turkey was purchased as it was every year, from the local Food Lion grocery store for a meager 19 cents per pound, a promotional price that was earned only after she had made five purchases of at least fifty dollars each made over the course of the six weeks leading up to Thanksgiving. The turkey would be prepared in a Reynolds oven bag after being rubbed inside and out with a stick of butter and margarine, stuffed with whole carrots, onions, and celery, then seasoned with only table salt and black pepper. The turkey would be placed in the oven at exactly the calculated time to ensure that the bird would be ready to be sliced when the knife-wielding patriarch commands the family to the dinner table.

The second task she set about to complete was to prepare the mise en place including finely chopped sweet onions, red and green bell peppers, and celery. Eggs and yams and Russet potatoes were boiled Deviled eggs and potato salad, candied yams and sweet potato pies. The boiled eggs were separated based on aesthetics, with those that were less uniform being diced up for later use. Once the most symmetrical eggs were halved lengthwise, their yolks were carefully removed, and then they were individually stuffed with a mixture created from the egg yolks and French's yellow mustard, Miracle Whip rather than mayonnaise, and Mt. Olive sweet relish. The remaining diced eggs and yolk mixture were folded into the diced boiled potatoes and lightly seasoned with salt and pepper, per her Mama's recipe. She resisted the urge to add all her usual touches, the garlic and onion powder, the salt and pepper, the dash of paprika to garnish, even the piping bag to make the deviled eggs appear more refined - no, it had to be exactly as Mama liked it or it would go untouched and someone else would cook a second version according to Mama's specifications. The same could be said about Mama's method for preparing candied yams. The yams had to be boiled with the skins on, then skinned in the kitchen sink, very rustically chopped, then laid out in a single layer in a casserole dish. Butter should be sliced by the tablespoon across the top of the yams, no less than two sticks, then granulated white, light brown, and dark brown sugars should be literally piled one after another atop the layer of yams; a light sprinkling of cinnamon crowned the dish. There was no stirring or mixing, oh, no, the sugar should create a sort of sweetened crust across the yams while also pooling at the bottom of the casserole in a delicious syrup.

Next were the sweets, the cakes and pies and cookies and treats that would delight each family member individually. First was the dueling pumpkin and sweet potato pies, with the pumpkin pie being prepared according to the recipe on the back of the can of prepared pumpkin by the Libby's company. Next was the chocolate pie, a sickly sweet preparation of "cook n serve" Jello chocolate pudding poured into an empty pre-made Oreo cookie pie crust. There had to be two of these, as one family member required a second one to be eaten for the next few days. The banana pudding was made with a homemade vanilla custard and 'Nilla wafers, the no-bake cheesecakes were dolloped with canned cherry pie filling to top, and the cocoa and oatmeal treats were dropped on parchment papers to set.

The final list of dishes were the sides, the pasta salad, green bean casserole, hand-shelled Crowder peas with snaps, Southern style baby lima beans known as butter beans, macaroni and cheese, and dressing and stuffing. The macaroni and cheese and the dressing or stuffing she would make two ways in order to please everyone. She would make boxed Kraft macaroni and cheese as well as Stove-Top stuffing in a pot on the stove. This was to please Mama, who only liked these particular preparations. She would also make her own recipe for baked mac 'n cheese filled with cheddar and Gouda and Havarti and muenster, seasoned and spiced, and topped with a bubbly and browned cheese layer. The dressing was a recipe that she learned from her Southern aunties, a somewhat dry baked mixture made of dried cornbread cubes and eggs, vegetables and seasonings. Finally, she opened a can of Ocean Spray jellied cranberry sauce, leaving the jiggly cylinder completely intact, still showing the lines from the aluminum can which would later serve as guidelines for slicing with a butter knife for serving.

She then packed up all the delicious dishes, ensuring everything was sealed tightly and secured properly for transport. On the morning of Thanksgiving, she woke early and began her morning routine, put on her most festive outfit that she had planned for months. She curled her hair and applied her makeup with precision. She ensured her two sons, aged 15 and 10, were washed and dressed in their Sunday best. She urged them to get into the car and they began the not so long journey to Mama's house.

This year, like the year before, though, her heart was full of resentment.

She was not packing up Thanksgiving dinner from the comfort of her own kitchen. No, instead, she was pulling out of the driveway of a cramped AirBnb in a rented subcompact car, both of which were being paid for with the remainder of the meager savings she had in the bank only for the 5 days of Thanksgiving break. She had been undergoing treatment for a health condition for over a year and in the process had lost her job as a middle school teacher and subsequently had lost both her home and her car. She and her two children were living with her parents only until she was able to get back on her feet. Her parents lived alone in a rural home with five bedrooms on 17 acres of land, land that included a boathouse, a guesthouse, and two RVs. Her two sons were each given a bedroom, equipped with televisions and internet and comfortable beds. She, on the other hand, was relegated to an open dining room that was used from sunrise, when her rigid and stoic father came downstairs, until all hours of the night, as Mama would come into the kitchen frequently to do dishes at midnight or get snack at 3 am. She had no door, no walls, no bed, just a tattered recliner and a blanket. No privacy. No respect.

She and her children had been told a week before the holiday season that this year, like the one before, they would be unable to be present daily at the home due to the arrival of her sister, two years younger, who preferred all of her parents' attention be on her and her Australian Heeler. The younger sister refused to stay in a hotel and did not like the noise or bother of other guests. Sister wanted to see family members only on the actual holiday and only for the prescribed amount of time predetermined that they should be present. And so it should be thus, according to Mama. So, at the exact time of year when families should come together and fellowship, she and her children were cast aside like the unwelcome house guests they truly were.

Still, she cooked and paid for the entire meal for all of her extended family using the entire allotment of food stamps she got for the month. She did not attend the meal, although she met Mama to allow her to pick up the grandsons so that they could fellowship with their extended family. Mama inadvertently mentioned to her when dropping the boys back off after dinner that this year and the last were the most blissful, peaceful, and enjoyable holiday seasons the family had ever had. No fights, no arguments, just good conversations and excellent food. Mama even gave a doggy bag meal to her.

No one considered how she felt, or if they did, no one cared. The resentment that had been building inside her for so many years was coming to a head, with her realizing she actually had no family beyond her children. Her older sister was not interested in her unless she could provide a service, such as help with resumes or assistance with paperwork that needed to be filed. Her nieces had turned against her after one niece married a girl who disliked her, regardless that she had, for years beginning at age 13, been their only source of food and diaper changes and house cleaning, while her older sister was drunk or depressed, even though older sister was a married homemaker without other obligations. The nieces and niece-in-law spouted nonsense about her being racist and homophobic, abusive and aggressive. Her father had hailed her as amazing when she was making $100k or more a year in the corporate sphere, but when she needed help, he made her feel like he had when she was a little girl - like trash, a failure, a non-factor in his world. And Mama, oh, patronizing Mama, who would kiss the ground she walked on when she had money to pay for trips and concerts and handbags and shopping trips, but who made her feel so unwanted now that she, for the first time in her life, was asking for help.

Her maternal grandfather was a schizophrenic farmer who barely completed the third grade; his father was a country preacher who committed suicide. Her maternal grandmother graduated eighth grade and immediately got married and began bearing children by fourteen. Her paternal grandfather was a truck driver and pool shark who had children he never cared for across the nation; her paternal grandmother died before she was 45 after a short life of drinking and factory work in the harsh Wisconsin weather. Her father was a Special Forces soldier who specialized in psychological warfare and enjoyed employing those tactics to try to secretly break her spirit. Her mother was a homemaker who never had to hold down a long term job and spent most of her time subverting her husband's authority without him knowing, since he was gone all the time.

She was the first in her family to attend college, the first to earn a bachelors degree, the first to earn a graduate degree. Her undergraduate degree was free for her since she graduated fourth in her high school class and won a competitive academic scholarship that covered all of her expenses. She was the first in her extended family to have a white collar career and the first to own a luxury car and live in a nice neighborhood and attend conferences and meetings and win fellowships and grants and awards. She was the first to work in the corporate world.

But as soon as she stumbled, struggled, needed a helping hand? She once again was the black sheep, thrown away, discarded, excluded. Excluded from holidays, from events, from the family. Totally excluded.