Chapter Seven: Turkish Thanksgiving

Ever since 1621, Americans have been celebrating Thanksgiving. What better way to celebrate our ability to exploit colored peoples than to gorge ourselves on the fruits of their labors? Beats me. Every year, Thanksgiving for my family usually means going to an aunt, uncle, or grandmother's house for typical gluttony. But the Thanksgiving of eighth grade year was different. I sought to expand my horizons.

Upon an invite, I asked if I could have Thanksgiving with Kerem's family this year. I was pleasantly surprised when both my mother and father obliged. I was excited to meet someone else's extended family, something I'd never really done. Kerem and I had grown into really good friends, and I felt this was the culmination of our friendship.

After quite a bit of effort spent trying to button my thirty inch pants around my thirty three inch waist, I was off to Kerem's adorned in some decent semi-formal attire. My mom dropped me off at Kerem's row home, asserting she'd be there to pick me up later.

I was under the impression that this Thanksgiving was going to be a simple gathering at Kerem's. Maybe a few of his relatives in the area would drop by. However, the plan was for me to tag along with Kerem's family and attend a relatively larger party at Kerem's aunt's house. It was roughly a twenty minute drive, nothing major. Actually, I was excited to meet even more of Kerem's relatives.

As soon as we arrived, I could tell things were going to be good. As I waded through Kerem's affable olive-skinned relatives I was delighted at how they embraced me. Despite the fact that I was one of only two white people there, I encountered smiling faces and engaging conversations universally. Plus, there was an abundance of succulent American and Turkish dishes. My already constricted tummy would have to wait for freedom. Kerem and I had even brought our skateboards. We got in a few good hours of hardcore ollies and extreme power slides.

By the end of the night, I was overcome with an encompassing feeling of joy - great food, great people, and I even got to skate some. We headed back to Kerem's house, and as expected, it was time for my mom to come pick me up.

"How was Thanksgiving with Kerem's family?"

"It was real fun. We spent most of the time at his aunt's house, though. I met a lot of his relatives, they were really nice."

"Wait, you went to his aunt's house? You didn't tell me you were going there."

"I didn't think it was a big deal, we just went there and came back."

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to his aunt's house! You lied to me!"

"I didn't think it mattered! It was just his aunt's house! What's the big deal?"

"It does matter! You lied to me! You never told me you went to his aunt's house!"

"Why's it such a big deal?!?! It was just his aunt's house!"

"BECAUSE I SAID SO! I'M YOUR MOTHER! AND YOU LIED TO ME!"

I couldn't comprehend her anger. I had a lingering feeling all through that day that my mom would see traveling to Kerem's aunt's house as fishy. I never acted on it. I didn't see the need to. My mistake, apparently it was a pretty big issue to my mom.

I was incredibly irate. I explained to my mom that she was beyond logic at this point. How could she be so upset over something so trivial? There was literally no objectionable point to me going to and from Kerem's aunt's house. Yet another yelling match over something completely avoidable. Fantastic. My mother and I both went to bed that night with bitter hearts; both of us stubbornly bent on the idea that we were each in the right.

The next morning, she recanted. I think my dad may have talked to her about her outburst, as well. She admitted she had stepped over the line. So what if I had gone to Kerem's aunt's house without explicitly telling her? I wasn't intentionally deceiving her, or trying to hide anything mischievous. We made up, timidly hugging.

And so things went back to business as usual. I didn't know at the time, or I just wasn't read to accept, that business as usual would include incidents like this on the regular for years to come.

Chapter Six: Andrew Walks Home

My idea of fun has changed a bit since the start of high school. Presently, for better or worse, I'm not usually satisfied anymore unless I'm pushing the envelope in some fashion. Without going too much into detail, just know that I like to flirt with the boundaries of my comfort zones. In contrast to how far I've come, at the dawn of my freshman year my lifestyle was a bit more deferential and placid. Whereas now, where even weekdays are susceptible to any number of mischievous shenanigans, my ideas about fun back then were contained to uncomplicated trips to Wal-Mart.

And so there I found myself on an uneventful Wednesday, early in freshman year, home alone after school. Kerem called. He wanted me to accompany him and his new Indian friend, Akash, to Wal-Mart. I could have stayed home and played Runescape in the basement, but hanging out with friends on a weekday was unheard of - simply too good of an offer to pass up. Kerem's grandfather picked me up shortly afterward.

Our trio was thus complete: me, Kerem, and Akash. We meditated on life's pressing issues. Finding dates for homecoming as freshmen, karate lessons and whoop ass, and other boyish matters of concern. However, one issue dwarfed all others; we needed to get some poster board from Wal-Mart, pronto.

Not that big of a deal, really, just about a mile and a half down various main roads through the heart of suburbanized northern Virginia. We made the trek with ease, and Wal-Mart was stocked with ample amounts of standard white poster board. We made another curious find as well. Flimsy, plastic Darth Vader masks, for about ninety cents each.

Just for kicks, Kerem put on the Darth Vader mask, whilst Akash and I put down our hoods so they covered our faces. In the midst of a massive disillusion that we were somehow bad ass Sith-looking motherfuckers, we began accosting Wal-Mart employees, James Earl Jones voice impression included. The reactions we drew validated my suspicions. We just ended up looking like a couple of regular lameass motherfuckers.

Retrospective embarrassment aside, we had fulfilled our goals. The time had come to return home. The sun was beginning to set, but we still had plentiful time before darkness set in. The walk back to Kerem's house was routine, and it was about time that my mom came and picked me up.

During the ride home, my mom posed the normal fair of questions.

"So what did you guys do?"

"We went to Wal-Mart."

"Oh, how did you get there?"

"We walked."

"YOU WALKED?! It's dark outside! You could have been hit by a car!!!"

"Well, it's dark now, but we walked back nearly an hour ago. There was still light out."

"I can't believe you walked to Wal-Mart! Cars can't see you, you could have died!"

"Well I didn't get hit by a car. They have sidewalks for a reason, mom. Chill out."

"DON'T TELL ME TO CHILL OUT! DO YOU WANT TO WALK THE REST OF THE WAY HOME?!?!"

And that was it. My 'crime' was walking to Wal-Mart during well-lit daylight hours, sticking to sidewalks, and obeying traffic signals. If I was going to get yelled at for doing nothing wrong, then I was going to let my mom know she was being absolutely ridiculous, oppressive, and deranged. I let her know how I felt.

But as we all know, families are hardly democracies. My mom followed through on her threat, something she scarcely does. My insubordination was rewarded with the joy walking home.

As I began hoofing it back to my house, I dialed up some friends. I needed to share this experience, I wanted to know if I had acted out of place. After all, had I seriously just been kicked out of the car because I walked to Wal-Mart? I called my dad, and he was none too happy with the situation. Unfortunately, his parental jurisdiction was limited on this quaint weekday evening. Retribution would have to wait.

Ironically, the path from the place I got kicked out of the car back to my house was longer, darker, and in a shadier neighborhood than the route from Kerem's house to Wal-Mart. Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire. If my mom was honestly worried about me getting hit by a car before, she didn't show it. According to her own perverse logic, she would apparently risk me getting hit by an auto just so she could make a feebleminded point.

Frustration and hypocrisy at their finest. I still felt I was right, that my mom was behaving in an uncalled for manner. Whenever I bring up teenage rebellion in class, Mr. Monteverde always says, "Without hypocrites, nothing would get done."And I think his point has a lot of validity. But I don't think this is the kind of motherly hypocrisy he envisioned.