Roasted Turkey. Steaming mashed potatoes. German green bean soup. One by one, Dad set the Thanksgiving dishes on the table. Everyone prepared to dig in. Except me.
My family said I was picky. I preferred to say I had eccentric eating habits. Traditional Thanksgiving food did not appeal to me. I hate that I never eat much at Thanksgiving, I thought. It feels like I’m missing out on the holiday.
“Want to try the broccoli casserole I made?” my sister-in-law asked. My cheeks turned red.
“You haven’t been in the family long enough!” my aunt said, giggling. “Kelly doesn’t touch Thanksgiving food!”
Dad brought in a dish from the kitchen and set it on my plate. Was this a joke? Tuna sushi! My favorite!
“This year I bought something just for you,” he said.
Thanks to Dad, Thanksgiving food was finally something to be thankful for.
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