Thursday, November 24, 2016

The Turkey Hunt: A Short Story by Victor Lana

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A week before Thanksgiving in 1938, my teenage brother and I walked through vast fields that sprawled behind the house where we lived in Queens, New York. In those days most of the area consisted of woods and farmland.
Dan wore Dad’s old Mackinaw coat which was worn on the sleeves at the elbows and a little tattered about the edges. We got to the top of the hill and the woods smelled sweet after the rain the night before.

``Dan, can we pick some berries up by the stream?'' I asked.

``Sure, but what's the use? We'll have a pie for dessert and no turkey for dinner.''

I heard a funny noise and said, ``Dan, you hear that?''

``Hear what?'' he asked.

“That!'' I said as I pointed at a large bird staring at us from behind a big oak tree.

``That's an honest to goodness gobbling turkey,'' Dan whispered back. He looked around and picked up a big rock.

``Talk to it,” he said, “while I creep around and pound him.”

Visions of a steaming bird on our Thanksgiving dinner table filled my head. I said, ``Hey, Tom, Mr. Turkey, I mean, how are you? I guess not too good since next week is Thanksgiving.”

Dan threw the rock but missed. The bird ran right past me in a flash and disappeared into the dark woods.

``Did you see how fast that bird ran?'' I said. ``He’s faster than Jesse Owens!''
Dan said, ``Say nothing about this to Ma and Pop, okay?''

``Sure, if you say so, Dan.''

``We'll take Pop's shotgun tomorrow after school and we'll roam these woods until we find that bird and bag ourselves Thanksgiving dinner.''

*

For the next few days we did the same thing after school: we came into the house, kissed our mother, put our books away, and sneaked into Pop's closet and took his shotgun. I carried the shells and Dan rested the gun on his shoulder as we walked quickly toward the woods. Each day seemed to get colder and the darkness came earlier. On the day before Thanksgiving we heard the funny little noise again. Dan put his finger up to his mouth. 

``Don't make a move,'' he whispered.

``Do you want me to talk to him again?'' I whispered.

``Yes,'' Dan said, ``I'll go over and get him from behind that bush.''

The turkey stared at me with dark eyes, its big black-banded wings fluttering ever so slightly. It made little curdling noises while bending its head to the side as if to study me. It suddenly came into my mind that this bird was a victim, a lost soul in a world of lost souls, and we wanted to eat him for a holiday dinner and couldn't care less about his troubles. I looked up and saw Dan as he started to take aim at the bird. I ran forward, waving my arms back and forth yelling, ``Run, Mr. Turkey, run like Jesse Owens and get away.''

Dan had pulled the trigger but the turkey once again flew past me faster than my favorite athlete. Dan ran toward me and screamed, ``Are you nuts?''

``I felt sorry for him, Danny,''

``Sorry for him?'' Dan asked.

``I thought he might have a family.''

Dan grabbed me by the coat and shook me. ``If I wouldn't get in trouble, I'd beat you up.'' He let go of me and went off into the woods and back towards home.

As we came toward the house we could see Pop waiting for us on the front porch, the lit pipe glowing in his mouth. Imposing in his police uniform coat and hat, Pop asked, ``Where have you boys been with my shotgun?''

Dan handed it to Pop nervously. ``We were trying to shoot a turkey for dinner tomorrow.''

``A turkey?'' Pop asked. “There's been no turkeys around here for twenty years.''

``We saw one, Pop,'' I said.

Pop said. ``Get inside and wash up.''

*

The next morning I woke to the aroma of Ma's cooking. I went into the kitchen and found my mother basting a huge bird. I said, ``Ma, did Pop get that from Krauss the butcher?''

``I don’t know,” she said. “He surprised me this morning with it.”

I went out to the garage where Pop was sawing wood. I asked, ``Where'd you get the turkey, Pop?''

``You boys said that you saw a turkey out there in the woods, so I went to take a look.''

I felt my stomach turn and asked, ``You shot Tom?''

``I didn't stop to ask him his name,'' Pop said.

I felt sick and went outside and started up the hill in the cold, thinking about the turkey and how my father had shot it for us. He didn't think about the turkey's family, or if it was lost, or even if it had a name. These were hard times and people were starving all over our country. Who was going to mourn the loss of one bird?

I started thinking that I was going to enjoy this meal just as much as anyone in my family would. The gravy and the stuffing and the bird itself would be delicious. The Fantinis of Queens, New York, were going to have a true feast this Thanksgiving, one to rival ones being eaten by those rich people living on Fifth Avenue.

I thought about my mother's pie made with the raspberries I had picked along the stream. Ma said it would be one of the best pies we had ever eaten. I stood up and looked at the smoke coming out of my chimney, the windows of my house so warm against the cold, and at that moment I couldn't have wanted to be anyone else or live anywhere else in the world. I was more certain of this than anything I had ever known in my young life as I started back down the hill and headed home for dinner.

Sunday, November 13, 2016

Talking More Than Turkey – Preparing for Election Rancor to Rock Thanksgiving

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Ah, the holidays – those warm, cozy times of families gathering around the festive table to eat a great meal and enjoy one another’s company. This year – not a chance! If you are feeling like I am right now, you are dreading the inevitable holiday dinner sit down that could possibly turn into something like a wrestling cage match.

As it is, holidays bring out the best and worst in people. We like to think of the past at these times – those fuzzy moments when we all gathered around the table with friends and loved ones who are no longer with us. Looking back now (still from the vantage point of sitting at the card tables in the living room with young siblings and cousins), I like to think of it as a Disney version of things – remembering everyone getting along and passing the sweet potatoes with melted marshmallows, instead of Uncle Jimmy yelling so hard about something that his false teeth popped out into a glass of cider.

mickey%20mouse%20thanksgivingYes, we tend to glorify that past as the good old days and  gloss over squabbles and bickering and the drunken relatives who would not leave the table until draining that wine bottle. Alas, they were also good times and everyone who is gone seemed so healthy and vibrant then, even my grandparents and other older relatives.

As a boy I took comfort in us all being together, and I figured every family had its disagreements. Back then the bickering could be Mets-Yankees or Jets-Giants more than anything political. Though I do recall when turning 18 and registering to vote being lambasted by my older relatives on Thanksgiving that year for not registering as a Democrat or a Republican – I chose to be an Independent and shook them all up a bit.

Though I recall one contingent of my family loving JFK (they adored him mostly because he was the first Catholic POTUS) and being fiercely loyal Democrats, they never fought with the Republican family wing who worshipped at the altar of Reagan. Maybe life was simpler then, but the disagreements tended to be much more about local politics (the two sides either loving or hating New York City Mayor Ed Koch, for example) and sports.

This year is poised to be different for my family and no doubt yours. The divide is much deeper now – the rift wider than ever before. In the past you didn’t see people most of the year and got together without knowing much of what was going on in their lives since last New Year’s Eve, but now courtesy of Facebook, Twitter, and email, we know everything that every cousin, aunt, and uncle thinks and does all year long (like seeing pictures of that great vacation Aunt Ester had in Florida or knowing about the deer cousin Jerry hung upside down in his garage after shooting it last week).

We also know about our family members’ political views and, this year in particular, the battle lines have been drawn in the sand in deep red and blue. The prospect of friendly banter may be subsumed by acrimonious conversations, especially if that annoying cousin Millie makes her usual one contribution to the conversation – this year no doubt being something along the lines of “How about that Trump?”

131127_pol_thxpolargument-jpg-crop-promo-mediumlargeSince war may be waged over the Thanksgiving dinner table, perhaps keep the option open to using plastic utensils. Those big drumsticks – good possible weapons for sure – should probably be left on a platter in the kitchen, and don’t let Uncle Ralph (who will no doubt be wearing his red Make America Great Again Donald Trump hat) sit next to Hillary Clinton supporter Dad as he is carving the turkey, unless you want the shower scene from Psycho to unfold.

I don’t know about you, but I am contemplating skipping the whole dinner thing and going out to look for someplace that is open on Thanksgiving Day. The prospect of sitting down alone and eating some General Tso’s chicken at Szechuan Palace is infinitely more appealing than being there to witness the battle of the red and the blue over turkey and cranberry dressing.

So, gird your loins, America – this Thanksgiving is going to be a bumpy ride, but take solace in knowing that it will pass, and then everyone can kick the crap out of one another the next day trying to get the best deals in the stores on Black Friday. Man, you just have to love the holidays.

Sunday, November 6, 2016

Why a Write-In Vote for President Is Not a Wasted Vote

While I had promised myself not to write anymore about the 2016 Presidential election until it was over, I find myself getting agitated by people saying, “A write-in vote” is a waste of time or a wasted vote. For those people like me who are thoroughly disenchanted with the two main candidates for the highest office in the land, saying something like this is as condescending as it gets.

To begin with, I am a registered Independent, so here in my home state of New York that basically means that I don’t exist. I cannot vote in the primaries, and the candidates that usually are considered the leading ones never represent my party (on occasion they do get an endorsement from my party, but that doesn’t mean they are the ones for whom I wish to vote).

After a raucous and obnoxious campaign waged by both Hillary Clinton (the Democratic Party nominee) and Donald Trump (the Republican nominee), I still have no inclination to vote for either one of them. This is more than about the issues or the personalities of these two totally unqualified candidates – it is about the lack of equity and accountability in the way nominees are chosen.

Earlier this year I wrote about getting rid of the conventions for both parties because they seem meaningless. When I see the machinations that went into depriving Bernie Sanders of a fair shot at being the Democratic nominee – and I firmly believe that he was robbed of the opportunity by the DNC, chair Debbie Wasserman Schultz, and Ms. Clinton herself – how could I ever bring myself to vote for the nominee whom I believe does not deserve to be there?

On the Republican side, there were so many supposedly “qualified” but unlikeable and annoying candidates that Trump – in no way the cream rising to the top – became the nominee by default. You can say what you want about his tactics and personality, but it was his opponents’ haplessness and lack of personality that catapulted Trump to the nomination.
So, after watching the unthinkable become the unimaginable – two of the most unpopular candidates in American election history running for the presidency – can you blame me and people like me for wanting another option?

Someone I know whom I respect a great deal said about my wanting to write-in Bernie Sanders for President that “It is just sour grapes.” He, a staunch Hillary supporter, went on to say “Any write-in vote is a vote for Trump.” However, I have heard Trump supporters saying just the opposite – that a write-in vote is a vote for Hillary. Of course, I couldn’t disagree more.

A write-in vote is a vote of conscience and integrity. It indicates that I (and many like me) am unhappy with the system, disgusted with the way we are expected to vote like cattle, and that many American voters want more options than just Republican or Democrat.

I have liked some of the things that both Libertarian candidate Gary Johnson and Green Party candidate Jill Stein have said; there were also things that I did not appreciate. I was bothered by Johnson missing the beat on Aleppo and Stein seeming to lean toward policies I disagree with in some areas, but more than that, I just am not comfortable casting a vote for either one because they were not my first choice, and I still think my first choice is the best one for me.

bernie-sanders-mug_5fea106e0eb494469a75e60d8f2b18ea-nbcnews-fp-320-320From the beginning I liked what Bernie Sanders had to say and what he wouldn’t say – he never knelt down in the gutter like Trump and Clinton, who have repeatedly gotten on their knees mired in the muck to attack each other. Bernie’s candidacy was fueled by high ideals and the notion of not the bluster of making America great again, but rather making it a better place to live for all people.

I know that many voters feel that a write-in vote is meaningless, but I beg to differ. A write-in vote can shake the world – if only more Americans would be able to join with me and others like me and take that giant leap. Your write-in vote is not just one small step calling for change in this election but a giant leap for redefining democracy in America. By choosing to write-in a candidate for president you are saying so much by not uttering a word and casting your ballot against the status quo.

Imagine if enough of us went into the voting booths all over the country on November 8 and wrote-in Bernie Sanders’s name? Perhaps he would not win, but if a tangible percentage of votes went to him it would send a message to the parties and to the politicians that people want change; it would signal that the “political revolution” that Sanders promised during his campaign is not over – it has only just begun!