Thanksgiving, of course.

Today is Thanksgiving. I think the world knows this, so I hate to point it out. But hey, whatever.

Before I dive into Thanksgiving shenanigans, a little update on the running situation. The doctor said I have the knees of… wait for it… a fifty year old. Yep. Knees of a fifty year old. Aside from that, I have patellofemoral pain syndrom. AKA, Runner’s Knee. Basically, from what I understand, there’s a lack of cartilage behind my knee cap which causes pain when I run and the patella runs over the end of the femur. Also, apparently there was a cyst behind my left knee back in 2008. Is it still there? I don’t know. I didn’t even know it was there in the first place. Great. Also, as it turns out, my LEFT knee is the one that had the MRI in 2008. Because of the confusion, and because the doctor (after poking and prodding and asking “does THIS hurt?” [dammit, yes, it DOES.]) decided that my right knee was the worst, he recommended an x-ray on both knees. So after my appointment with that doctor (whom I’ve never actually liked, ever, because of the poking and prodding mentioned above, and his lack of humor, and his abrasiveness… but I digress) I walked down the hall to the x-ray people and they fit me in for knee x-rays.

The results? Normal, other than what was already known. Lack of cartilage between the femur and those lower bones that make up the shin thing (tibia? fibula? it’s been a while since A&P), and the runner’s knee thing. The doctor said to not run. He said to, actually, not even walk, but instead use an elliptical or a bike. I think I’ll bring a bike back from home today, because I don’t want to be stuck on an elliptical. I don’t even like the motion of the elliptical. Anyways… he also said no kneeling, to which I replied “I work with kid’s on Sundays. I have to kneel.” [insert doctor’s stupid humor, nasal-y & monotone voice] “Well… kneeling’s the worst thing you could do.”

Obviously not, if I’ve been running. Punk.

 

Anyways. Happy Thanksgiving! It’s Thanksgiving!

Our family’s thanksgivings have never been textbook. Some years it’s just the five of us (most times resulting in arguments, yelling, etc., and then after dinner some laughter and fun). Some years it consists of the whole neighborhood, and we all gather in my family’s backyard and eat at one long table. Some years it’s just a few neighbors. Some years it’s just a few people in our family. Sometimes I go to St. Augustine by myself (like last year) and sometimes I go to Daytona (like my freshman year of college) and sometimes I run around all week and crawl home on Thursday afternoon aching for my mom’s arms (like this year). This year, it’s me crawling home this afternoon aching for my mom’s arms, but also missing my dad’s. Dad is in France for a month. He won’t be home until December 13th or something like that. This year I miss my dad.

I’ve never been daddy’s little girl. I don’t know what it’s like to be that girl who relies on her dad for everything, or goes on daddy-daughter dates, or even spends a significant amount of time with her dad. My dad and me? We butt heads like nobody’s business. We are practically the same person, I’m learning, so we’re both stubborn, and right all the time, and have a fierce temper. We both want what we want, but we’ll bend to please others if we think it’s necessary or beneficial. I think we both hate fighting too, which is weird because we argue a lot. Since college, it’s been better. I’ve started hugging my dad. Not only that, but recently I find it hard to let go of him.

I remember one time yelling at him and my mom. I had been asking to do something as a family for a few weeks, and finally my mom said we just didn’t have the money or time or  something like that to do something as a family. I remember breaking down and crying, and then I turned and was screaming at them. I screamed at them for probably five minutes. Granted, they probably didn’t understand a word I said. When I scream and cry and am angry I get all high-pitched and fast-talk and sniffle-nosed, and I start pointing my finger a lot. I think I was pointing out how we never do anything as a family even when we’re all home. We never had game nights. We never went out to dinner together. We never had movie nights. We never went on a picnic (which was a BIG deal to me, for some reason. All I wanted was a picnic). We ate dinner together, but we never really talked.

“How was school, girls?”
“Boring.”
“What’d you learn?”
“Nothing.”
Silence.

Or, instead of silence

“Stop that. You had to learn something. What did you learn?”
“NOTHING.”
“Get your elbows off the table. We didn’t raise you in a barn. And finish up. You and you, do dishes. You, clean your room. I’m not telling you again…”

blahblahblah.

I don’t remember many times when my family enjoyed being together and just being. But from what I do remember, my favorite night has to be the nights when we pull up the tv dinner/magazine tables (whatever) next to the dinner table and load those up with snacks and drinks. Then, we pull out Scrabble, or RISK!, or the poker chips. Those have been my favorite memories, I think. Squeezing the five of us, and maybe some neighbors, around our kitchen table and playing texas hold ’em, or five card draw, or scrabble (dad always won), or risk (dad always won, except that one time where me and my sisters teamed up and took him OUT), or apples to apples, or something like that.

 

I don’t know why I’m saying all of this.

I wish my dad was home for Thanksgiving this year. I wish we would clean up after dinner and then pull up those tv tables and pull out the poker chips, or the scrabble set, or something.

 

Later, I may tell you about the neighborhood feasts, and how they came to be, and why we don’t do them anymore.

 

Moral of the story? I miss my dad.

 

Oh yeah, and I’m thankful for the family God blessed me with — regardless of how lame, cranky, obnoxious, loud and argumentative they can be.  They’re mine. They’re the only family I’ve got, and they’re mine. And I love them. I love them. I love them.