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Billy and the Thankless Thanksgiving
Read by Jodi Sweetin
Full Text
“Billy and the Thankless Thanksgiving” by Jeremy Frank
The holiday descended on Billy's household like a T-Rex devouring a three-ton hamburger: it was a frenzied mess and you could be sure that little bits would be flying around everywhere. His mother would get a bit crazy come mid-autumn, cleaning and scrubbing and writing huge stacks of greeting cards. Like a bear hibernating in a cave, Billy found his mother lived most of the season in the kitchen, cooking one thing or another. But the person who suffered most, he believed, was himself. Thanksgiving meant having to spend hours waiting hungrily in order to share a meal comprised of foods people don't normally eat with family members he didn't remember.
One Thanksgiving, Billy made the mistake of telling his mother how he felt. “Are we having all those people over again this year?” Billy whined.
“Those people are your family,” she said sternly, “and yes, it's a family tradition.”
“But it's a terrible tradition! Thanksgiving is supposed to be a time when you eat a lot, but we spend most of the night waiting for you to finish cooking. It always takes so long.” This set his mother off, and her face turned as red as cranberry sauce.
“Well, Mr. Ungrateful!,” she screamed, “if you think you can do such a better job, maybe you should cook Thanksgiving dinner this year!” Though she may have intended it as a punishment, Billy took it as a challenge.
“I accept!” Billy announced boldly, marching into the kitchen and putting on an apron that was clearly too big for him.
True, he didn't know much about cooking, but Billy knew a lot about eating, and he figured the two couldn't be that different. He decided to start with the turkey. If everyone loved gravy as much as he did, it would make a lot of sense to fill the turkey with it so that it could be prepared at the same time as the turkey. He went to the garage and returned with a funnel which he used to fill every last nook and cranny of the inside of the turkey with gravy. The turkey seemed to swell as little dots of gravy began to sweat out of its skin, but Billy figured this was normal. Nature is suppose to help mankind, so why would nature design an animal that couldn't be used to hold a gallon of seasonings? The plastic wrapping the turkey came in said to cook it at 300 degrees for four hours. Four whole hours! “Well that's a simple fix,” Billy thought, “I'll just put it up to 600 degrees for two hours. I bet my Mom just never did the math.”
While that was in the oven, he set off to make the mashed potatoes. He wasn't sure how they were supposed to be prepared, but he knew 'mashed' was just another name for 'smushed'. Holding a potato in his hand, he realized they were shaped a little like aluminum cans, and he had a lot of experience crushing those with his feet. Why couldn't he do the same thing with potatoes? Putting a bowl-full of potatoes on the floor, he stomped on them with all his might. Soon, they had been transformed from potatoes to some horrible white glop with bits of potato skin floating in it. Either potato skin or whatever was on the bottom of Billy's sneakers. He picked it up and looked at it. It wasn't exactly what he had expected, and he wasn't sure it was technically mashed potatoes anymore. He decided he'd just call it “the side dish” and set it aside for later.
Checking back on his turkey, he discovered that it had turned less of a delicious golden-brown and more of a smoking, charred black. He frantically shut off the oven and threw the turkey under the sink. He turned on the cold water, but the turkey was so full of gravy that the addition of the water caused it to burst like a balloon! Billy ducked as the turkey repainted his kitchen.
His family was seated around the dining room table when Billy carried in the large covered platter containing Thanksgiving dinner.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced in his fanciest tone, “I present you with this selection of peanut butter sandwiches fit for a king. Enjoy.”
“Billy, where's the turkey I bought?” asked his mother.
“I...uh, haven't found all of it yet,” Billy said nervously.
“I don't understand. Let me just pop into the kitchen and see if I can find it.”
“Wait!” Billy cried, “Before you do that, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for being so ungrateful, and that the cooking you do for this family is a lot harder than it looks. I know I should thank you more often. But now, if you need me, I'll be somewhere far, far away” Billy added, running out the door.
Billy's mother was about to follow him out when she happened to catch a glance of her kitchen. “BILLY!” she roared. But by then, Billy was long gone.
“I've learned one thing,” thought Billy as he ran just as fast as his legs could carry him, “I'm thankful I got a head start!”
THE END
The holiday descended on Billy's household like a T-Rex devouring a three-ton hamburger: it was a frenzied mess and you could be sure that little bits would be flying around everywhere. His mother would get a bit crazy come mid-autumn, cleaning and scrubbing and writing huge stacks of greeting cards. Like a bear hibernating in a cave, Billy found his mother lived most of the season in the kitchen, cooking one thing or another. But the person who suffered most, he believed, was himself. Thanksgiving meant having to spend hours waiting hungrily in order to share a meal comprised of foods people don't normally eat with family members he didn't remember.
One Thanksgiving, Billy made the mistake of telling his mother how he felt. “Are we having all those people over again this year?” Billy whined.
“Those people are your family,” she said sternly, “and yes, it's a family tradition.”
“But it's a terrible tradition! Thanksgiving is supposed to be a time when you eat a lot, but we spend most of the night waiting for you to finish cooking. It always takes so long.” This set his mother off, and her face turned as red as cranberry sauce.
“Well, Mr. Ungrateful!,” she screamed, “if you think you can do such a better job, maybe you should cook Thanksgiving dinner this year!” Though she may have intended it as a punishment, Billy took it as a challenge.
“I accept!” Billy announced boldly, marching into the kitchen and putting on an apron that was clearly too big for him.
True, he didn't know much about cooking, but Billy knew a lot about eating, and he figured the two couldn't be that different. He decided to start with the turkey. If everyone loved gravy as much as he did, it would make a lot of sense to fill the turkey with it so that it could be prepared at the same time as the turkey. He went to the garage and returned with a funnel which he used to fill every last nook and cranny of the inside of the turkey with gravy. The turkey seemed to swell as little dots of gravy began to sweat out of its skin, but Billy figured this was normal. Nature is suppose to help mankind, so why would nature design an animal that couldn't be used to hold a gallon of seasonings? The plastic wrapping the turkey came in said to cook it at 300 degrees for four hours. Four whole hours! “Well that's a simple fix,” Billy thought, “I'll just put it up to 600 degrees for two hours. I bet my Mom just never did the math.”
While that was in the oven, he set off to make the mashed potatoes. He wasn't sure how they were supposed to be prepared, but he knew 'mashed' was just another name for 'smushed'. Holding a potato in his hand, he realized they were shaped a little like aluminum cans, and he had a lot of experience crushing those with his feet. Why couldn't he do the same thing with potatoes? Putting a bowl-full of potatoes on the floor, he stomped on them with all his might. Soon, they had been transformed from potatoes to some horrible white glop with bits of potato skin floating in it. Either potato skin or whatever was on the bottom of Billy's sneakers. He picked it up and looked at it. It wasn't exactly what he had expected, and he wasn't sure it was technically mashed potatoes anymore. He decided he'd just call it “the side dish” and set it aside for later.
Checking back on his turkey, he discovered that it had turned less of a delicious golden-brown and more of a smoking, charred black. He frantically shut off the oven and threw the turkey under the sink. He turned on the cold water, but the turkey was so full of gravy that the addition of the water caused it to burst like a balloon! Billy ducked as the turkey repainted his kitchen.
His family was seated around the dining room table when Billy carried in the large covered platter containing Thanksgiving dinner.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced in his fanciest tone, “I present you with this selection of peanut butter sandwiches fit for a king. Enjoy.”
“Billy, where's the turkey I bought?” asked his mother.
“I...uh, haven't found all of it yet,” Billy said nervously.
“I don't understand. Let me just pop into the kitchen and see if I can find it.”
“Wait!” Billy cried, “Before you do that, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for being so ungrateful, and that the cooking you do for this family is a lot harder than it looks. I know I should thank you more often. But now, if you need me, I'll be somewhere far, far away” Billy added, running out the door.
Billy's mother was about to follow him out when she happened to catch a glance of her kitchen. “BILLY!” she roared. But by then, Billy was long gone.
“I've learned one thing,” thought Billy as he ran just as fast as his legs could carry him, “I'm thankful I got a head start!”
THE END