The Horrible Thanksgiving by Derek Lamparelli

This horrible Thanksgiving was like any other; at my grandparent's house from my dad's side, staring down a long table overflowing with food. My family is great at cooking, so it smelled and looked fantastic. I was even sitting at the grown up table! My three pairs of aunts and uncles, a solid amount of ten cousins, my grandparents, and my parents were all there. I overheard the normal chatter of a happy family. A normal boy of my stature would be thrilled, I'm a big kid with a big appetite. Twelve years old, so I'm still growing. With a mountain of food right in front of my eyes, I should be drooling. I'm not. I scan the table and observe what's on everyone's plates: heaps of turkey, piles of stuffing, lots of squash, and tons of vegetables. Turkey, not my favorite. Stuffing, just gross. Vegetables, I don't think so. Squash, the worst. Then I get to my plate, which is miserable. It just doesn't measure up to Thanksgiving dinner expectations. All that's on my plate is an iota of food. There's just a few rolls and some mashed potatoes. At first, I'm totally okay with the taste, but it eventually gets mundane and boring. All I do is wait for dessert, but they usually leave it out, just sitting on the table. It stares me in the face the entire time. The fact that I don't like a lot of food is the main reason why Thanksgiving is pretty low on my list of favorite holidays. What makes it even worse is how everyone hounds me to try everything. Especially my parents, they pretty much traumatized me over the years. I don't think I'll ever eat squash for my whole life because of the way they try to get me to taste everything. It's like their memories are already subsiding. I gave squash a chance for the first time way back in the day, and I haven't liked it since the very beginning. Sure, my parents have pulled the "Maybe your taste buds have changed" card, so I try it, but to no avail. I don't understand why they can't just accept it. They have some sensible tactics, but they instantly are shot down because they have been using them for the past six years. "It tastes like candy!", my parents exclaim. No it doesn't, no matter how much cinnamon you put in it. It tastes like baby food. Another thing they attempt to do is make me watch them eat it. To make matters worse, they slowly scoop the squash right into the spoon. Then they draw it up to their eyes, slowly examining it. Then, while making very direct stare right into my soul, they precariously eat it. Then they chew it doing the same thing. All that does for me is verify that they didn't poison it. One of the absolute worst things that they do to me is when they get the whole family to gang up on me to try something. "Try it Derek!", my cousins shout. "You'll love it!" , my grandparents declare. "Trust us!", everyone says. That makes me so angry because it puts pressure on me, but I hold my ground anyway. I love seeing my family, I love to socialize, but I don't like people trying to shove food down my throat. If my family is going to try to get me to try something, they should at least think of some new tactics that would work on a nine year old, at the very least.