BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The timer was going off, to tell everyone the turkey was ready. We all rushed to the table, while my dad took out the golden brown bird.
“What do ya say Janay?” asked my grandma.
“About what?” I asked utterly confused.
“You know, the poem, the poem you’ve said every year since you were four!”
“Oh, yeah sure, I’ll do it.”
“You remember it right?” she asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

I nodded, and walked into the dining room where everyone was seated. Once we all settled my mom nodded at me to start, but all I could think about was the conversation I had just had, and remembered when….

My little sister had just been born, and my whole family was going up to Big Bear to celebrate her first Thanksgiving. Since the whole family would be together, my mom had asked me to say the traditional Thanksgiving poem. This poem had been said for many generations; my great-great grandma had said it first, and now it was my turn. No one really knew where my great-great grandma had gotten the poem, but over the years we had made some changes to make it suit the family, like changing the names to whoever the youngest grandkids were at the time. Since the poem had been passed down so far back, I felt a bunch of pressure on my shoulders to say it right.
“You ready,” my dad asked, as he pulled out a chair for me to stand on since I was only five.

I nodded, too nervous to talk and stood on top of the chair. Someone had tapped their fork to a glass, to let everyone know that I was starting. I closed my eyes to help me calm down, and thought about the poem, the poem I had been practicing since July, and the poem that I would say for years to come.

As I opened my eyes I began saying it: “He lay there on the table, that gobbler plump and round…”

The words came so smoothly from my mouth, it was almost mechanical. After I had finished I looked up and saw that my Aunt Heidi was crying. Confused, I wondered why she was crying. Wasn’t this supposed to be a time of happiness and family? Maybe I said it wrong! Maybe I…..
“Ahem,” my dad coughed into his napkin to break the silence that I had created.
“Oh, sorry, I was lost in a train of thought,” I said apologetically.
As I looked up I saw my mom once again nod at me to start. Before I began speaking, I closed my eyes and remembered that Thanksgiving night seven years ago, the food, the poem, the nerves, and realized how important that night really was, because it gave me something to be proud of and something to look forward to every Thanksgiving.
I once again opened my eyes and began the Thanksgiving poem: “He lay there on the table, that gobbler plump and round…