Glutton for Cranberry Sauce

Flickr: Alexa

I may never live down the day I finished off the cranberry sauce.

I should never have told my wife. Now she gives me the side eye every time we go out to dinner with friends. She deals with anxiety when we’re served a small appetizer.

It was an innocent mistake! What kind of family only has one can of cranberry sauce at Thanksgiving dinner? Sure, it was my family. But how was I supposed to know? And what do you do once you’ve flopped half a can of cranberry sauce smack in the middle of your turkey gravy? You can’t really put it back. Are you supposed to ask people if they want some off the plate? Truth be told, I didn’t even think to ask! I love cranberry sauce! It was the first thing I shoved my spoon into, and it was gone in 2.5 seconds.

For goodness sake people, I was a child!!!! Dad just handed me the little six inch white plate with half a can of sauce left on it, and I slipped it right over on top of my potatoes. I wasn’t wise enough to peek across the table to the empty pantry to check the status of grandma’s stock of various gelatinous fruits. No one had taught me to make sure that you’re taking the last of something, that you have to make sure there’s more or that everyone got as much as they wanted. I’d never been schooled in the art of acting like I was looking out for the good of others, even though I was really only thinking about how much I wanted that slippery, sugary tart goodness in my mouth. That’s taken me years to learn!

I didn’t know my grandparents were poor! I knew their house was smaller than most of my friend’s houses. I knew it had spiders inside, all over the light switches and all over the wall next to the toilet paper. I knew it was out in the middle of nowheresville, where it’s dusty and dry and covered in snakes. But how was I supposed to know they were poor! They were the ones who had the whole family over for dinner for every holiday! My grandpa built the house. Didn’t they own the land? We didn’t own our house at all, so how was I supposed to know you could be poor and own two hundreds cars like my grandparents. I know they didn’t run, but they owned them! My parents only had two! They had dogs, like ten dogs! I didn’t even have a dog!

I may never live down that day, but only because I outlived my dad, who flopped the other half of the can onto his plate, right before I did.

Andy Littleton - MediumThe Little Man: A Father's Legacy Of SmallnessOut in Left FieldAndy Littleton - Pastor, Writer, Small Buisness Owner, Podcaster[image error]