Thanksgiving is the one day a year on which I am treated even in some small degree like I’m special, and it’s the one day a year when I revel in being treated like I’m special. And it’s kind of a weird feeling.
The mashed potatoes don’t go to the table without my approval. I’m not quite sure how that happened; maybe it’s the Irish I got from daddy and cultural stereotypes being jokingly applied. Whatever it is, not only to I get to taste and approve, I also get the beaters.
I also walk out of my aunt’s house with a whole pumpkin pie. Yes, every year she makes a pumpkin pie for me to take home. I end up sharing it with my mother and TGF but still, I am the only one who isn’t offered slices to take home. I think that’s pretty freaking awesome.
Every now and then I question this. I wonder what I did to be treated not only differently but, at least from my perspective, like I’m more important than others. Maybe it’s just the accident of birth. Maybe it’s my personality. I don’t think I did anything specific to deserve it and sometimes that bothers me.
Then again, as feelings of self-entitlement go, getting to check out and approve the mashed potatoes, and getting more pie than everyone else are not extravagant all things considered. Regardless of why, this small little bit of “special” is just one of the things for which I am thankful today.
Now, I’ve just got to make room for pie. Given that I feel like I’m not going to eat again until Saturday, this might be tough.
I think you’re special every single day of the year.