A pilgrim’s Thanksgiving story

As this would-be decluttering specialist attempted to put his 5-year-old cousin’s spacious playroom back into some semblance of order before the four-generation family assembled for Thanksgiving dinner, he recalled the theatrical production — about a bountiful harvest the Wampanoag Indians shared with the Mayflower Pilgrims — which the paternal cousins turned thespians performed for their parents and grandparents following the annual feast when he was just a wide-eyed third grader.

Little did I realize my next of kin and I actually descended from a few of those European seafaring travelers — John and Joan Hurst Tilley and their daughter Elizabeth, who later married John Howland — another passenger aboard the historic vessel.

It was only after completing our heartwarming performance that Pappy Price informed us of the direct line of lineage through his maternal grandmother’s branch of the family tree; and he shared the story of how our forefathers journeyed from Plymouth Colony to Cape May, New Jersey prior to settling in Perry County, Pennsylvania in the 1830s.

Both my 10th and 11th great-grandparents survived the arduous journey across the cold, dark Atlantic Ocean to arrive in the New World to practice their own form of religion, free of religious persecution from the Church of England.

Every time I think about the unwavering resolve of the Separatists fleeing their country of origin, it totally blows my mind; not only to think about the fact that my father is now a minister of the Gospel, but also of my own determination to not allow my disability to keep me from living my best life possible.

I must have inherited that particular trait from my adventurous ancestors; so, it’s no wonder I sometimes refer to myself as “The Determinator,” because the apple didn’t fall far from the family tree.

Shortly after putting the last of the oversized building blocks on a shelving unit in the corner of the “now neatly organized playroom,” my face lit up like a Christmas tree upon hearing Uncle Paul’s boisterous brood coming through the kitchen door with one of the newest members of our extended family — Silver’s one-year-old daughter Tanya Lee Price — my grandparents’ first great-grandchild.

I’ll bet she doesn’t even realize that she descends from Mayflower royalty!

“I’ve been wondering where you’ve been hiding,” declared Rhett Butler Price with a sly grin splashed across his face as he gave me a double high five accompanied by our usual chest bump. “When we walked into the old house on Palmer Avenue, I fully expected to find you saving me a top bunk in the back bedroom; but now that room belongs to Pam and Freddie.”

We’re staying over at Grandma and Pappy Price’s duplex on Grand Island.

Isn’t it a little crowded over there?

“Just like a can of sardines,” suggested John with a hint of sarcasm in his voice when he rounded the corner of the dining room to greet his Pennsylvania cousins. “However, Mom and Dad are sleeping on the sofa bed in the living room with our little sisters in sleeping bags on the floor; and Mark and I are camping out on the sofa bed in the next-door neighbor’s house.”

Gone are the good ol’ days when we were all crammed together in that back bedroom over at Gram and Pap’s former abode in Kenmore, playing board games until the wee hours of the morning.

“There’s no time for fun and games for me,” lamented Silver Star Price with a hearty laugh while letting us kiss the brown-eyed baby on both cheeks. “Since I’ve got a little one to look after, I spend most of my time feeding her and changing a lot of poopy diapers.”

“Welcome to motherhood,” quipped Grandma Price with an air of certainty before whisking the next generation off to the living room for some tender loving care. “Now that you’ve all had an opportunity to say hello to this little bundle of joy, it’s my turn to spend some quality time with her, because a great-grandmother trumps her grandkids.”

Anytime our family matriarch wants to take charge, I just let her have at it; because then I get a much-needed break.

Once all the other aunts, uncles and cousins arrived at Aunt Joan’s two-story dwelling in North Tonawanda—the only place big enough to host the traditional family gathering — we all sat down at our assigned places with 13 adults crowded around the dining room table, 10 grandchildren gathered at the kitchen table and four more younger grandchildren at a little kiddie table in the playroom.

In addition, there were two babies in highchairs — one at each table — and one content infant rocking in a nearby tot-totter.

It’s a good thing uncles Buck and Ron — along with their respective families — didn’t show up this year; otherwise, we’d be busting at the seams.

“Do you remember organizing that Thanksgiving play a few years back,” quizzed Rhett with a finger snap upon nudging me in the ribcage to get my attention. “That’s when you threatened to spank our hineys with Grandma’s egg turner; but I thought she was going to retrieve her favorite form of punishment and beat you to the punch.”

That’s cause you and GiGi got into a knock down drag out fight right in the middle of the once-in-a-lifetime event!

“Grandma was upset for an entirely different reason,” whispered Pam Price, shaking her head in response after glancing into the dining room for any listening ears. “She was ready to scalp Kelly and me for wearing her precious doilies on our heads as makeshift Pilgrim bonnets; and on top of that, she was going to string Freddie up for stretching her hand-stitched toilet paper cozy.”

Here I thought she was going to have a cow because Mikey and me were wearing little to no clothes with our makeshift loincloths.

“Are you kidding me?” inquired Carmen Price with a sideways glance as she refreshed our memory of the comical adaptation’s grand finale. “When Kathleen ran across our makeshift stage — buck naked — at the very end of our unique interpretation of the first Thanksgiving, Uncle Carl shouted out, ‘Now that’s what I call a grand finale.’”

We should take off all our clothes to see if any of the adults even notice.

“If anyone of you sitting at the kitchen table even attempt to take off a single article of clothing, you will regret the day you were born,” warned the fiery redhead with a stern look in our direction.

Looking like deer in headlights, we quickly changed the subject.