Personal Narrative-Day Of Thanksgiving

It comes around every year; not always on that same date, but always the same time. The weather is usually brisk from the wind that whips through the countryside and on occasion there might even be the blessing of individually unique snowflakes falling to the ground. None of this is a problem though, as we all sit indoors where the heat from the floor vents push out hot air filling the whole house. It is always the same, year after year, and I would never change it; because to me it is the best time of year, the fourth thursday of November, Thanksgiving. The holiday means so much to me as the traditions my family hold have been passed down from generation to generation. There is something symbolic about thanksgiving and the memories I carry from previous year’s celebrations. Every year as I walk up the stairs and through the door into my grandparent’s house, flashbacks to previous year's celebrations fill my mind. Immediately following entering my grandparent’s back door the
My aunt pours you a glass of milk, skim or 2%, and you head back to the table in the living room to join the others there eating and chatting away about the latest milk prices, tractor sales, and other farm related topics. After seconds and sometimes thirds, the women will could around and take dessert orders, and you squeeze a little bit more into your already bloating belly. We all clean up and the table is removed from the middle of the living room, opening up a huge space to lay down on. With the television playing the Packers game in the background and a few family members at the kitchen table looking through Black Friday ads and planning that night’s exhibition, a majority of us find a play on the carpet to lay and soon drift off to