Growing up, Thanksgiving was more than just a holiday; it was an event—a warm, boisterous, love-filled day at Grandma Cooper’s house. The memories of those days are etched deeply in my heart, a tapestry of laughter, delicious food, and the kind of family closeness that can only be described as a blessing.
Our family would gather from near and far—Aunts, Uncles, Cousins—filling Grandma’s cozy home with hugs, kisses, and a lot of noise. We were a hugging and kissing family, unapologetically so. I’ll admit, I sometimes wonder about mentioning the “kissing cousins” advantage—Carlene, Stephanie, Kathy, you know what I mean. But the love and connection we shared made those moments unforgettable.
Among the usual cast of characters, there was Bill, an older gentleman and friend of Grandma’s, and Gilbert, the little boy next door who always seemed to find a way to be part of the festivities. They added their unique charm to the holiday, rounding out the warm, patchwork quilt of family and friends.
Every Thanksgiving began with a great feast prepared by many hands. The kids, of course, were told to keep out of the way until it was time to gather as one family, hold hands around the table, and give thanks. After the prayer, we dove into the feast—turkey, stuffing, pies, and everything in between. We ate until the mere thought of another bite was overwhelming.
Once the meal was over, a rhythm set in. The men retreated to the living room, their bellies stuffed, to watch football, while the women tackled the dishes and tidying up. The kids? We knew the drill—time to “high tail it” out of sight and let the grown-ups do their thing.
We would play outside, crawling up and sliding down the old school fire slide tunnel until we were out of breath. Inside, board games like Cootie, Mr. Potato Head, and Chutes and Ladders would appear, or the adults might gather for a competitive game of Rummy or Euchre.
But the real highlight came later, when Grandma Cooper brought out her 8mm projector. She’d dim the lights, and we’d all sit down to watch the now-infamous “gorilla being eaten by flies” movie. To this day, I have no idea where she found that film or why it became a Thanksgiving tradition, but it did. We kids were equal parts fascinated and horrified. Looking back, maybe it was Grandma’s way of keeping us from heading back to the dining room table too soon.
As the years passed, our Thanksgiving tradition evolved. My older siblings and cousins got married, families grew, and it became impossible to gather everyone under Grandma’s roof. We celebrated separately, carrying pieces of the old traditions into new homes and creating fresh memories.
Today, it’s rare to have the entire family around one table. Life pulls us in different directions—different cities, different states, and endless commitments. Yet, when we do manage to gather, the echoes of those Thanksgivings at Grandma’s fill the air.
Seeing traditions passed down—watching my own grandchildren giggle over games or stare wide-eyed at old family movies—reminds me just how blessed I am. Blessed to have been part of such a loving, connected family. Blessed to still carry those memories in my heart. And blessed to know that, even in this fast-paced world, the love and togetherness of those simpler times live on.
For those memories, and for the moments still to come, I am truly thankful.
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Grandma Cooper’s Cinnamon Rolls
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