Morning brings the most precious sound in the world; Silence. No annoying alarm clock demanding me to get up at ungodly hours. No yelling by my mother to get up and do some meaningless chore. Not even my dog ruined the peacefulness that seems only to be brought by the holidays in my household. But soon, as expected, the moment was gone and I had to leave the comforts of my bed to go on with the routines of life.
Getting up that morning I already knew that this Thanksgiving would be unlike any other. It didn’t even feel like a holiday. My family and I didn’t watch the parades on TV. I ate cold cereal for breakfast. My older brother wasn’t even home when I woke up. The “holiday feeling” that people are supposed to experience during this time of the year was absent from my household, with reason, but I was still determined to make the most of what I could.

After more than two weeks in the hospital, my father was finally able to come home the day before Thanksgiving. “Just in time,” he said, “I would have snuck out if the doctors told me I couldn’t come home. He was now lying in his bed, content to be home but still not feeling well. I went to see how he was doing and to give him his medicine. We joked that he brought home a pharmacy with all the medication he has to take. But at least it’s better than having to spend thanksgiving in the hospital like my grandmother, who is recovering from a stroke, has to.
I went to the kitchen to see what my mother was up to, and immediately regretted it when I saw that she was already cooking. I tried to slyly turn around and creep back to my room when she called out to me, “Oh no, you get back here!” I let out a sigh and returned to the kitchen to see what tedious task she would make me do. “Aren’t you going to help me? You’re a girl! You’re supposed to learn how to cook,” she said to me, as she had many other times. But I hated cooking. “I can make mashed potatoes,” I mumbled. “Oh so you’re going to cook mashed potatoes for your husband everyday then?” she replied to me, crossing her arms, thinking that she won the argument. But at that moment, an idea came to my head. After convincing my mom that I had a very important English paper that I needed to write, I then proceeded to go to my room and watch a whole season of “How I Met Your Mother” on Netflix.

The next few hours were a blur to me. My mother finally caught me and made me help her in the kitchen after realizing that writing a paper couldn’t have possibly made me laugh that much. I had to peel, chop, and dice an assortment of vegetables that she was going to use in the Indonesian noodles that she was making. For Thanksgiving dinner, my whole family all get together in one house and each individual family would bring a tray to eat. That way, no one person would have to spend all day cooking. I always thought that it was the best way to do things.

Evening came, and my parents and I were ready to go to the family dinner. Thank God it was at my uncle’s house this year; that means we don’t have to clean up the mess. We arrived to find a nice set up in the living room of the house. I have a fairly large family, so four tables had to be put together for everyone to fit. It all looked very festive with orange table cloths and fancy decorations. There was a whole table dedicated for desserts, having cupcakes, gelatin, arroz con leche, and different fruits. The kitchen also had various foods laid out and none of us hesitated to fill our plates.

My plate had ribs, noodles, rice, beans, pollo horneado, Hispanic style fried chicken, and pasta. My family doesn’t like turkey, and the only ones that were there were the paper ones put up for decoration. We all sat down around the table and my uncle said a few words before we prayed. “Estamos agradecidos de estar juntos aqui,” he began. He then started to say how thankful everyone is that my dad is home again, and that we can be all together as a family. He reminded us all that every day, there is something to be thankful for. We prayed for our food, and afterwards there was a chorus of “hoy si,” as if they planned it. Everyone dug into their plates as if they haven’t eaten in weeks.

As we ate, everyone was talking and catching up with each other. My family also loves to make jokes about each other, so everyone was laughing. Since my dad is Asian, and I grew up learning English, my Spanish isn’t the best. I can understand, but when I speak I use so much slang and it just doesn’t sound right. On the other hand, a lot of my family does not speak English well. So we compromise by speaking Spanglish.

Surprisingly, dinner didn’t last very long and soon, most of us were content and full. “Your belt looks like it is going to pop off,” my cousin told one of my aunts. “That means that I had a very good holiday,” she replied, and we all laughed. As we left the adults to talk, my cousins and I went to the basement and to hang out. A few of my aunts and uncles joined us, and we did what everyone does on Thanksgiving; we watched “21 and Over” on Netflix.

Eventually it got late, and people began to leave. Most of my family lives within fifteen minutes of each other, so it wasn’t an emotional or significant thing. We were all going to see each other at church on Sunday. Although it wasn’t a very traditional Thanksgiving dinner, I still enjoyed it very much and loved the opportunity to be with family.

Night brings the end of a day that can mark a change. Even though it was different than any other Thanksgiving, with my father being sick, my brother not being there, and my grandmother still in the hospital, it was also a Thanksgiving that I am sure to remember. It is the day where memories were made, traditions were born, and family was united. And good memories only get better over time.