On Thanksgiving My Uncle Stopped Me At The Driveway And Said You Re
Thanksgiving was always a weird holiday for me. I’m Ryan, 27, and for most of my life, I’ve kind of felt like the background character in my own family. Not hated, just tolerated. My sister Jenna was the golden child, my mom’s mini-me, perfect grades, perfect fiancé, the whole deal. Meanwhile, I was the quiet one, the artist, the one who, according to my Uncle Steve, “never really grew up.” Every year he hosts Thanksgiving.
And every year I drag myself there because, well, tradition, right? This year felt different. I hadn’t heard anything about the dinner. No invite, no family group text. At first, I figured maybe they assumed I’d just show up. But then I saw photos on Jenna’s Instagram: the long table already set, the turkey carved, everyone dressed up, laughing.
It was clearly planned. I stared at that picture for a long time. I gave myself every excuse to believe it wasn’t what it looked like. Still, I got in my car and drove to Uncle Steve’s place. It was only twenty minutes away. I told myself if I was wrong, I’d laugh it off and sit down like nothing happened.
But the second I pulled into the driveway, the cold air outside felt warmer than what was waiting for me. Uncle Steve met me at the edge of the driveway. He didn’t even wait for me to get out of the car. He just walked up, arms crossed over his beer belly, that smug little grin on his face. Thanksgiving was always a strange holiday for me. For most of my life, I felt like the background character in my own family.
Not hated, just… tolerated. My sister, Gina, was the golden child, my mother’s mini-me with perfect grades and a fiancé who ticked all the right boxes. I, on the other hand, was the quiet one, the artist, the one who, according to my Uncle Steve, had never really grown up. Uncle Steve loved to say that. He was one of those guys who acts like a sitcom dad but without any of the charm—loud, opinionated, and with a deep love for grilling people over their life choices. And every year, without fail, he hosted Thanksgiving.
Every year, I dragged myself there because, well, tradition, right? But this year felt different. I hadn’t heard anything about dinner. No invitation, no family group text, not even a vague, guilt-tripping reminder from my mom. At first, I assumed they just figured I’d show up, like I always do. That illusion shattered when I saw the photos on Gina’s Instagram.
The long dining table was already perfectly set, the turkey carved and gleaming, and everyone was dressed up, laughing. It was a picture of holiday perfection, and it had clearly been taken before I was even supposed to be there. A cold pit formed in my stomach. It wasn’t a mistake. The invitation wasn’t “lost in the mail.” This was deliberate. Still, a desperate part of me needed to see it for myself.
I got in my car and drove the 20 minutes to my uncle’s house, telling myself that if it was all a misunderstanding, I’d laugh it off and take my seat. Posted November 19, 2019 | Reviewed by Kaja Perina Every holiday season, family get-togethers can be filled with drama, judgment, and barely concealed eye rolls. The turkey gets served with a side of passive-aggressive stink-eye and you lose track of the number of trips you need to count to ten in the powder room. Therefore, here are six tips for dealing with extended family on Thanksgiving (or any family gathering, for that matter). Tip #1: Search for what you have in common.
This holiday season, a divided nation means many divided families. Uncle Jack watches Hannity, while cousin Molly loves Colbert. If your family is a mix of Never Trumpers and MAGA-hat wearers, you may be biting your tongue extra hard over pumpkin pie. But there is more to life than politics. Search for what you have in common. Every family shares a common history, so start there.
Funny childhood stories? How Grandma met Grandpa? Alternatively, take the opportunity to get to know each other better. Ask about each person’s last travel adventure or the best concert you’ve ever been to. Even with impeachment and a presidential campaign in full swing, we can all connect on values and activities that have nothing to do with politics. Tip #2: Team up with a buddy.
Seek out a like-minded relative (you’ll find her desperately using her meditation app on the back porch) and agree to look out for one another. For example, rescue your cousin from getting cornered by Uncle Rick (after all, you really need help arranging the hors d’oeuvres); in return, ask her to suddenly, urgently need your assistance when your sister...
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Thanksgiving Was Always A Weird Holiday For Me. I’m Ryan,
Thanksgiving was always a weird holiday for me. I’m Ryan, 27, and for most of my life, I’ve kind of felt like the background character in my own family. Not hated, just tolerated. My sister Jenna was the golden child, my mom’s mini-me, perfect grades, perfect fiancé, the whole deal. Meanwhile, I was the quiet one, the artist, the one who, according to my Uncle Steve, “never really grew up.” Every ...
And Every Year I Drag Myself There Because, Well, Tradition,
And every year I drag myself there because, well, tradition, right? This year felt different. I hadn’t heard anything about the dinner. No invite, no family group text. At first, I figured maybe they assumed I’d just show up. But then I saw photos on Jenna’s Instagram: the long table already set, the turkey carved, everyone dressed up, laughing.
It Was Clearly Planned. I Stared At That Picture For
It was clearly planned. I stared at that picture for a long time. I gave myself every excuse to believe it wasn’t what it looked like. Still, I got in my car and drove to Uncle Steve’s place. It was only twenty minutes away. I told myself if I was wrong, I’d laugh it off and sit down like nothing happened.
But The Second I Pulled Into The Driveway, The Cold
But the second I pulled into the driveway, the cold air outside felt warmer than what was waiting for me. Uncle Steve met me at the edge of the driveway. He didn’t even wait for me to get out of the car. He just walked up, arms crossed over his beer belly, that smug little grin on his face. Thanksgiving was always a strange holiday for me. For most of my life, I felt like the background character ...
Not Hated, Just… Tolerated. My Sister, Gina, Was The Golden
Not hated, just… tolerated. My sister, Gina, was the golden child, my mother’s mini-me with perfect grades and a fiancé who ticked all the right boxes. I, on the other hand, was the quiet one, the artist, the one who, according to my Uncle Steve, had never really grown up. Uncle Steve loved to say that. He was one of those guys who acts like a sitcom dad but without any of the charm—loud, opiniona...