“Prayer”

They always had to gather to pray. Before any meal dinner, the whole family gathered to pray. Before my cousin’s eighteenth, they gathered to pray. He hated every second of the attention and every prayer for better grades and less drug use. Before letting the baby cousin eat his PB&J, at least two of the aunts had to gather to pray. In quiet, tiny restaurants they had to gather to pray, no matter how uncomfortable it was, no matter how inappropriately loud we all knew my uncle’s voice would be. Always gathering to pray. At least on Thanksgiving it made sense. But Thanksgiving was the longest prayer gathering on the day everyone was the hungriest.

It was always my mom who gave the gathering the first go.

“C’mon y’all, time to pray!”

“Let’s go everybody, I know y’all are hungry.”

“Hey guys, everybody is ready to eat, let’s go ahead and pray.”

It never worked the first time around.

There was still football on and it usually wasn’t halftime yet. None of the uncles or grandfathers or cousins payed any attention. Maybe my mom could tally one or two of her sisters.

The aunts. This time around was always a little bot more harsh. People were actually getting hungry.

“Hey, let’s go. Get off the couch.”

“Get up, it’s time to pray. Right now.”

“Brian, Curtis, Leanna, circle up. We have to pray.”

Always blaming it on us, the cousins.

“We’re coming. Wait on more play.”

“They’re about to score, one minute.”

“Sorry, I was playing with the babies. I’m coming now.”

Four plays, a touchdown, and three more minutes with the baby cousins and we’re n trouble. In trouble with the aunts.

“Now!”

“Curtis, get over right now and hold my hand. Let’s pray.”

“Get in the circle right, Leanna. We’re all here.”

It took three or four tries, but we were gathered.

Before we could pray we had to talk about praying.

It was always the same.

“Who’s saying the prayer today?” one of the aunts would ask.

“Jimmy, do you want to do it?”

“I can do it, but maybe Papa wants to do it,” Uncle Jimmy would say.

“Oh no, he’s happy for you to do it.” Mimi would say.

She loved to answer for Papa.

“Now, wait a second. I’ll do it, but let’s ask Steve first,” Papa would say.

Always gracious.

“Y’all don’t want Steve praying today. He’s already had four beers,” Aunt Linda would say.

Chuckles. It was easy to laugh at the uncles.

“Hold on, now. I’ll give everyone the best prayer they’ve ever heard this afternoon. But we should let Father Sam do it,” Steve would say.

He really didn’t want to pray.

Father Sam was the other grandfather. The grandfather to the Greek side of the family.

He was a Greek Orthodox priest, retired. He never turned down a chance to pray. It’s probably not great for a priest to say he doesn’t want to do the prayer.

That has to be sacrireligious or something.

“No, sir. Steve, I’ll leave it up to you. I prayed last year. It’s gotta be your turn.”

Usually it was settled here.

“Okay, I’ll go ahead and pray.” Steve would say.

Or Jimmy would jump in, “I’m ready to eat, y’all. Let me do this one quick.”

Jimmy played linebacker at the University of Florida. He likes to eat. He was usually serious about being hungry.

This year, no one stepped in. People just looked around. There aren’t many awkward moments in our family. Things go as they usually do. According to plan. The normal way.

“Shit, I’ll do it,” I said.

The normal way was boring anyway.

“Brian Aubrey Smith!” That was my aunt. No one uses my middle name.

“Bri, you can’t say that on Thanksgiving,” my dad said.

He usually didn’t care what I said. Maybe that was too much.

“Sorry, I mean shoot. Shoot, I’ll do it. Sorry, I’m hungry.”

“Really,” my mom mused.

“Sure. I guess. I don’t want to let Uncle Steve get embarrass himself,” I said.

When I said it’s easy to laugh at the uncles, I really meant Steve. It’s easy to laugh at Steve.

“I appreciate it,” he said. “You always were my favorite nephew. No offense, Curtiss.”

“None taken if it’s helps us finish this prayer.”

“Alright, Brian, let’s hear that short prayer of yours,” Mimi said.

“That short one’s my favorite,” Aunt Linda added.

“The shorter the better,” from Jimmy.

“I love short prayer. Right to the point,” said Papa.

They think it’s funny to repeat after one another.

“Hey, Bri, is it gonna be short?” from my dad.

No one laughs. He’s always too late. Takes it too far.

“Can I just pray so we can eat?” I ask.

“Y’all be quiet. Go ahead.” said Mimi.

“God our Father, once again, we ask your blessing. Amen.”

That was the first prayer I learned.

It rhymed so I guess that’s why they teach it to little kids. It’s the only one I use because there’s nothing worse than having to come up with a heartfelt prayer on the spot.

My mom hates that prayer.

—–

Thanksgiving dinner is always held at Jimmy’s house. Jimmy the linebacker. It’s Uncle Jimmy, Aunt Liz, Nicole, Melissa, and Curtis. Jimmy’s parents are full Greek. One hundred percent. Born and raised in Tarpon Springs, Florida. That’s the home of the sponge industry in the United States;. It’s also home to one of the most famous Greek communities in the country. It’s deeply Greek and deeply traditional. Every year they throw a cross in a lake. Every full-blooded Greek young man in the Church dives in after it, jumping from dingy little boats that probably should not hold their weight. One kid comes up with the white cross and has good luck for a year. I’m always happy we don’t have to drive out there for Thanksgiving. I wouldn’t know what to do with all that Greek tradition. The most Greek thing we have at Thanksgiving is the grape leaves wrapped around rice and lamb. Unbelievably delicious. Sometimes Jimmy cooks up some baklava. It’s not as good as the grape leaves. The rest of dinner is pretty classic American. I guess traditional would be the word. Traditional would probably be the word for the whole family.

Mashed potatoes with a ridiculous amount of butter. Creamed corn with a ridiculous amount of salt. And a ridiculous amount of butter. Green beans with barely too much butter. Sweet potato casserole with too much butter and too many marshmallows on top. Ham with way too much fat. Mimi’s biscuits that Aunt Linda insists on buttering way too heavily. The turkey is good. I don’t think you can really put butter on a turkey.

The seating situation is traditional. Three tables. Two for the adults and still a kid’s table. Curtis is the youngest kid left in the family. He’ll be 21 in a month. The kids table sticks around because we like it. But it wouldn’t be our Thanksgiving without the kids table traditional. It’s best that we have it, though. The cousins don’t see each other that often. We don’t talk about a lot. We like to tell each other we’re going to travel together.

“I want to run with the bulls this summer,” I say.

“Do they do that in Italy?” Melissa asks.

“No, in Spain.”

“Barcelona?” she asks.

“No, Pamplona.”

“Ohhhh, I want to go,” says Leanna.

“Come with me,” I say.

“My mom will never let me go. She’s too worried.”

Linda. She worries a lot.

“Yeah, she worries too much. You’ll be with me,” I say.

“Doesn’t matter. She won’t even let me go to Boston by myself,” she says.

“Oh well.”

Curtis has different plans.

“We’re all going to Vegas for my 21^st.”

“Shut up,” Melissa says. “Dad will never let you go.”

“Are you serious? He wants to go with us,” Curtis says.

“I’m in,” I say.

Nicole just shakes her head and keeps trying to feed Malachi and Joshua at the same time. She’s on her own because Tim, the new husband, likes to sit at the adult table.

He always wants to talk politics with Mimi.

Sometimes we’ll talk about other stuff. Boys and girls, mostly.

“How’s Adam, Melissa?” Leanna asks.

“He’s good. I wish he was here today. I miss him,” Melissa responds.

I look at Curtis . We know they’re getting married soon.

“So when is he proposing,” he asks.”

“Shut up!” Melissa laughed and turned red.

Curtis nods at me.

Linda pops her head n the door.

“Got yourself a girlfriend yet, Brian?” she yells.

She can’t hear so she’s always yelling.

“No m’am, not yet,”

“We’re all waiting in you, she says.”

“You’ll be the first one I tell,’ I promise.

I always make the same promise. I don’t think I would ever tell her.

She gossips enough with my mom. She would find out soon enough.

“You better. Y’all want some dessert,” she asks.

Everyone gets up.

—–

Dessert always comes with a seating change. Mimi always like to talk to me during dessert. She likes to bring up big topics during dessert. Tim talks politics with her on purpose. I avoid these conversastiosn at all costs. Once a year, during Thanksgiving, I can’t avaoid them anymore. Politics and religion. It’s all she talks about. She knows I hate going to church. She knows I never say the prayer when we gather. She knows I don’t want to talk about it. So of course she calls in the aunts so we can talk about it.

“When was the last time you went to church, Brian” Mimi asks.

“On Sudnay,” I say. “With Mom.”

My mom nods.

“When was the last time you went to church without your parents,” Mimi asks.

“I’ve never done that,” I say.

“I mean at school,” Mimi asks.

The aunts look at me. Not a good time to lie.

“I never go to church at school.”

Mimi leans back and scowls.

“I think we need to do something about this,” she declares.

“That’s a good idea,” agrees Linda.

“Good call, Mom,” Liz says.

“Sure, let’s do something,” says my Mom.

“You can’t do anything,” I assert. “It’s school. I have to study on Sundays.”

Mimi believes she can do something. She contends that I need to send proof of one church visit each month or I don’t get any birthday money. I wonder if I am suddenly twelve again. My mom shuts me down, saying I need to have some respect. Mimi theorizes that I should also be the prayer guy from now on. I scoff. The aunts glare. That’s Papa’s job, I argue. Mimi doesn’t think he will mind. He wants the best for his grandson. I argued. The aunts agreed. I’m the prayer guy now. Another good Thanksgiving, they agreed