Ghost of Thanksgiving Present

So today is Thanksgiving. Happy Thanksgiving! Though this is typically my favorite holiday, this year's Thanksgiving did not live up to the memories of Thanksgivings past. Maybe it's just not as fun when I don't get to make the turkey myself; the meal certainly isn't as good without my angioplasty-proceeding turkey gravey. My family doesn't go around the table and name one thing for which each member is thankful, either. Bummer.

What follows is a ficticious Thanksgiving narrative told in the third-person. Though you may be tempted to speculate, please do not assume the story is in any way based on me, my family or my own experiences.

As on other major holidays, on Thanksgiving the Knudsens ate an amply-provided lunch with the maternal side of the family, and then pack that down with dinner prepared by the paternal side. Today Clark was swamped with essays to grade: 13 U.C. personal statements, 11 SAT writing exams, seven homework essays, one student evaluation paper, two turtledoves and a partridge in a pear tree. All of these needed to be returned either the following day or the day after that, when he would be working eleven and eight hours, respectively, so clearly Clark had no time to correct them later.

This predicament led him to read the papers and exams in his aunt's livingroom before lunch. His mother and father arrived after he did, and were disgruntled to see his engaging in (what, apparently, they perceived as) such anti-social behavior. They called him aside, castigated him for working (woe betide him for his unfriendly diligence!), and demanded that he put down the papers.

It should be noted that during the span that immediately followed this little exchange, neither of Clark's parents displayed the type of conduct one might expect from such paragons of social grace--the type of behavior befitting those who had just berated their only son for his temporarilly eremitic behavior. Mrs. Knudsen ignored all others in the kitchen, and silently arranged her jello-based dessert; Mr. Knudsen took to watching the football game--alone on the sofa.

It should also be noted that the guests at Clark's aunt's guests were not necessarrily the type of people with whom he, at that moment, desired to converse. Having overheard parts of their conversations, Clark made the (possibly hasty) decision that they were either unwilling to or incapable of engaging in the type of discourse in which he wanted to participate.

He further noted that there was very little way to discern which male was paired up with which female, or which child was part of whose brood. The situation was further complicated by the fact that many of them lacked wedding bands, so Clark was left to wonder whether all of the chidren were offspring of adults present, or if perhaps a kind aunt or uncle were baby-sitting as a holiday favor. It crossed Clark's mind that he could inquire about all of these things, but he didn't feel sufficiently engaged in the topic to remember the answers, and would have ended up having to ask again a few minutes later.

All the while (when not lamenting over the lost time he could have spent finishing his work), Clark was assiduously committing to memory relevent details, emotions, and responses to the environment around him. Under normal circumstances he would have simply recorded them in the small, black notebook he had recently purchased for this very use, but this would be too conspicuous. Clark was well aware that the act of observing changes the observation, but felt that this effect could be mitigated if the objects of his scrutiny were ignorant of his designs.

"How often would people act or speak differently if they knew I would record, edit and publish their behavior on my web log?" he mused.