I stared out the window, my nose make making two small circles on the frosty glass as I watched my dad chase a large rooster around the yard. The rooster and I were the same age.
But at 5 years old, our lives were at opposite junctions. Mine was just beginning, and his was about to culminate on the dinner table.
I didn't sample any of the roasted rooster my family enjoyed that Thanksgiving. After witnessing the hapless bird's last dash, I stuck with vegetables and pumpkin pie.
But that was the first Thanksgiving I can recall, and aside from the rooster trauma, it was a very pleasant day. I can recall the sound of wood crackling in the fireplace. I remember hearing the sound of laughter as my younger siblings played, and the resounding smack - and subsequent squall - my sister slapped her twin. I can still see my father as he relaxed in his easy chair next to the fire, the fragrant smell from his pipe mingling pleasantly with the smell of mom's pumpkin pie baking in the oven.