HERB BENHAM column: Tiny ball keeps visit bouncing along
Drama a natural part of the family Thanksgiving dinner
| Thursday, Nov 26 2009 04:10 PM
Last Updated Thursday, Nov 26 2009 04:45 PM
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Thanksgiving was coming, the kids were on their way home and a list appeared on the kitchen counter.
The list had four items on it. At the top was, "Set up the ping pong table."
The ping pong table showcases my wife's optimistic side. Imagine Camp 20th Street. If we set up the ping pong table, maybe the campers won't row across the lake and perform a midnight raid on Camp Bakersfield.
The translation, family-wise, is that if we play ping pong, maybe we'll spend more time at home. Spending time at home has proved to be easier for some than it has for others.
Home is a magnet, but friends are a more powerful draw. Especially at Thanksgiving. The drill for children is Woolgrowers on Wednesday for dinner, followed by a nightcap(s) at the Chalet.
Bedtime is 3 a.m. Good thing Thanksgiving dinner is not served at breakfast; otherwise, their experience with pumpkin pie would have been through children's books.
Ping pong is meant to be the antidote for the Wednesday night revelry as well as a way of knitting the family together. Those familiar with ping pong know that if a family is fragile or threatening to dissolve, a lively match will finish the job. Families are powder kegs anyway. Throw in a 21-19 nail-biter and it's Islamabad in the garage.
Ping pong or not, Thanksgiving is not absent human dynamics. While it is convenient to talk about one's 20s, (the ages of three of four of our children) as being one of transition, faces at the table can be in their 30s, 40s and 50s and it's still a rich spicy stew: Anything can happen or be said.
It may be the moment to lob a couple of grenades and storm an enemy bunker. Plant a flag on top of the hill and call it even.
Higher ground is elusive. Even if it seems higher, it's probably seismically unstable. If you listen carefully, you may be able to hear the aftershocks of major earthquakes in years gone past.
Even without the actors, Thanksgiving provides its own drama. Last year, as people were filling their plates, a pipe in the pantry ceiling broke. Warm water gushed out, which might have been comforting, in a Far Side sort of way, had we been convinced that it was coming from the bath rather than the toilet.
What followed was a series of awkward tableaus: What will the guests think? Where is the shut-off valve? Will we reach the valve before it's appropriate to plant rainbow trout in the downstairs lake?
A broken pipe can be the opportunity for a team-building exercise or it can be one of those "Good Lord" moments when blame flies across the room like spitballs in a second-grade class after the teacher is called to the office.
It took every towel in the house to sop up the water. Even then, the floors warped and the house, which has character to burn, has even more.
This year my parents will be here as well as my wife's. Unlike the children, whose stay stretches over three or four days, grandparents try to leave as light a footprint as they can.
The goings-on are amusing, but they prefer their visits be measured in hours rather than days.
The hours are usually good ones, the best of the year. Bakersfield and the Valley show well during Thanksgiving. We look good dressed in red and gold.
The days are cool, and the nights perfect for a fire. In addition to filling the upstairs with appealing smoke smell (it's an old house thing), a fire brings peace to a family that ping pong may have torn asunder.
Expectations are manageable during Thanksgiving in a way they may not be during Christmas. Good food, dumb movies and walks through scattered piles of liquidambar leaves.
Family is possible. Even with ping pong. It might help if we didn't keep score.
