Thanksgiving, Inc.

This year will be my 17th Thanksgiving in America.

My very first Thanksgiving, Mamani made Turkey.

One year we had turkey sandwiches from Ralphes.

One year Dad made the Turkey. Not bad for a first timer.

One year Khaleh P made it.

Another year M Khan made it.

M Khanoom too. She made good cranberry pie and yams.

At Big Bear, Sam Sam made the best Turkey with his high tech syringe to make it moist.

One year Dad came back from Iran right before Thanksgiving and we had lots to give thanks for.

Last year, A cooked TaCheen and ordered Turkey from outside.

Three years ago we skipped the whole thing. No body really likes the dry turkey meat anyways; it's just formalities.

Three out of the 17 years of it they have not been here. So they have really had 14 Thanksgivings.

Some of them were vague and unclear, dark and gloomy.

One of them stands out the most and has the warmest memories of all for me, ever lasting memories. We drove to Tustin Ranch to Babaee's warm little apartment for Thanksgiving, where he had made big fat Turkey Kooftehs, with his famous garlic rice. We ate lots of anaar and naarengi afterwards, watched Friends and laughed. Then we slept over.

All these Turkeys killed all these years and the one year that sticks out the most in my mind, that poor Turkey had to be ground meat to make its powerful effect.

I miss Babaee every Thanksgiving, and every cold winter and every time I make a left on Irvine Blvd...and every moment that he is not here.