Remembrance of Thanksgiving Past

This Thanksgiving I was lucky enough to have two of my three children with me- my daughter, Abby, now a consummate Manhattanite studying anthropology, and Aster, a social work student enrolled at St. Louis University.

I had to content myself with a Skype call to their brother, Aaron, an intern in a Central Asian country whose name lacks a single vowel, unless you count the “ys” in Kyrgyzstan.

Driving back from my brother’s home in Joliet, about an hour away, my mind drifted to another Thanksgiving years ago, when my kids and I were headed back to a small Massachusetts town after a thanksgiving weekend spent with their Nanny and Pop Pop in North Jersey. Anyone who has ever made the holiday trek on I-95 between New York and Boston knows well its perils: bumper to bumper traffic, overcrowded rest stops, snowstorms that can pop up as quickly as turkey leftovers on your plate.

My husband had left for a business trip from JFK, leaving me to face the long drive home with three young children under six. I was as prepared as I could reasonably be, in an era without cell phones or GPS. I had pulled out all stops, allowing even sugary fruit chews to calm young nerves. Rice Krispy treats were my weapons of choice. My kids were troupers, having made the five-hour trek to New Jersey many times over.

Nature had not smiled on road warriors that weekend. It had poured all night, but luckily no sleet. I loaded the kids in our clunky station wagon (remember those?) and bravely headed for the NJ Turnpike. The incessant rain had left lanes of traffic as solid as ants en route to chocolate cake at a picnic. After five hours, we were 90 miles past the Tappan Zee Bridge when it happened.

Traffic had unexpectedly crawled to a near stop, and I applied the non-anti-lock brakes as our faithful wagon skid on the rain-slicked road like a skim board at the water’s edge. We missed the car ahead of us, spun 180 degrees, and ended up facing the opposite direction—in the breakdown lane. Luckily, the kids had been asleep. I was too stunned to scream.

I eased my way back into the line of traffic, got off at the next exit-somewhere near Waterbury, Connecticut, and checked into a motel with the kids. After dinner at Burger King, we piled into our king size bed and watched a Disney flick. I hugged my kids and knew it was the best Thanksgiving ever.