The early morning

sun came through the bedroom window blinds, warming my face. A slight

breeze slipped past the cracked window and tickled my neck, trying to

awaken me. Turning over to avoid the light I glanced at the clock. "That's

strange," I thought. "Its eight-thirty ­ I'm gonna be late

for school."

Then the smell

of fresh baked bread drifted into the room. The oven door opened and closed,

mom was humming, and the scent of hot pumpkin pie filled the air. Lying

in bed, halfway between dreamland and slumberland, I heard plates being

put on the table and glasses clanking in the distance. With my blankie

pulled up around my neck, I realized that this was not a school day.

Today was a

special day; one that comes around but once a year. The very day I've

been waiting for.

It was no one's

birthday, no presents will be given, and no presents will be received.

It's wasn't that kind of occasion ­ not that kind of day. The screen

door on the front porch slammed shut, and I heard the muffled voice of

Neighbor Thomas's Mom. I remembered ­ she promised last week to come

over and help cook and get everything ready for the afternoon meal. Neighbor

Thomas and his family will eat with us that day; his dad was out of town

on business.

That's was

just one of the reasons why today was gonna be special, 'cause today was

Turkey Day at our house. But more importantly, at age seven, it was finally

my turn to carve the bird!

I got up, dressed,

ran down stairs and started to help (get in the way) in the kitchen. The

pumpkin pie and bread that I had smelled were sitting on the cooling racks

next to the window. Thomas's mom had just put a dozen eggs on to boil.

When she saw me, she said she wanted me to help her (help her keep me

out of the way). She made the best deviled eggs in town, and this was

the first time she was going to tell her secret recipe.

After boiling

the eggs and letting them cool in water, she told me to peel them (I got

most of the shells off). Then Thomas's mom cut them in half, scooped out

the yokes, and put them in a mixing bowl. She diced an onion (sweet Vidalia,

of course) and added a large spoonful of mayonnaise, brown mustard, and

sweet pickle relish. I mixed it all up and spooned it back into the egg

halves. Then the most important part came ­ I got to lick the spoon.

Thomas's mom sprinkled a little paprika on top of each one to finish them

off. She then put them in the refrigerator till it was time for me to

cut the turkey that afternoon.

Even though

I was only seven years old and the turkey was almost as big as me, cutting

it would be no problem. Dad had seen to that. He bought a two-speed electric

knife the week before Thanksgiving and told me that I would be the first

one to try it out. Dad said, "This electric knife is so sharp that

it can cut right through a beer can." Knowing us kids the way he

did, Dad hid the knife in a place none of us would think to look, behind

the dishes in the china cabinet.

Yes, cutting

the turkey would be no problem this year and I would be the first one

in the family to use the new electric knife ­ or so I thought. When

Big Brother James and Older Brother Richard found out about the two-speed

electric knife, they wanted to be the first ones to try it out. Dad told

them they would just have to wait till next year.

Well, come

to find out, they didn't want to wait. That morning, before I got up,

Big Brother James and Older Brother Richard snuck downstairs, got the

electric knife out of the china cabinet where dad had hid it (Dad hid

everything in the china cabinet when we were growing up) and headed for

the basement. While I was upstairs in the kitchen watching Thomas's mom

cut eggs in half, Big Brother James and Older Brother Richard were downstairs

in the basement seeing what the two-speed electric knife could cut in

half.

They first

cut up a plastic drinking straw, then a school pencil, my pool stick,

and an old plastic pipe. Big Brother James used the electric knife to

cut The Sister's jump rope in half and cut the handle off of one of Dad's

new hammers. Older Brother Richard used the electric knife and cut a Coke

can in half, which would have made much less of a mess if they had just

thought to drink it first. They even used the knife to cut holes in our

Industrial Strength Reninforced Cardboard Refrigerator Box! Then they

quietly snuck back upstairs and returned the two-speed electric knife

to its hiding place in the china cabinet. Four hours later, it was my

time to use the knife.

At two in the

afternoon everyone came together and sat at the table which was covered

with pumpkin pie, home baked bread, cranberry sauce, stuffing, sweet potatoes,

green bean casserole, deviled eggs, and of course a 22-pound turkey hot

out of the oven. As plates were passed around to me, I was supposed to

put a slice or two of turkey on them. Even on high speed, the best that

the two-speed electric knife could do was to shred the turkey into little

pieces. Thanks to Big Brother James and Older Brother Richard, we all

ate minced turkey for Thanksgiving that year.

The next day

Dad returned the two-speed-electric-knife, got his money back, and vowed

never to buy one again. That was the last time I can remember Dad owning

an electric knife; it was also the last time I got to carve the family

turkey.

[Rick Ryckeley

is employed by the Fayette County Department of Fire and Emergency Services.

He can be reached at [email protected].]