Easily Clearing the Thanksgiving Bar

My wife and I are lucky that our first Thanksgiving together ended with a small party of foreign nationals vomiting just outside of our apartment. It kind of set the bar that all future Thanksgivings had to clear really, really low.

It was 1992 and Sharon and I were living in New Orleans but we weren't planning on staying much longer. Earlier that year, she and I had decided that we were going to travel the world together and teach English in foreign schools for a living. As such, we both went about pursuing that dream in our own ways. Sharon began volunteering as an English instructor for various organizations around the New Orleans, hoping to gain valuable teaching experience needed to land a good job overseas. I, a young, white man fresh out of college, knew that simply informing the world of my plans would be enough to get me what I wanted, so I spent my last few months there learning how to prepare as many authentic New Orleans recipes I could find that could be consumed through a straw and contained bourbon. And I still use those recipes today, so you decide who used their time more wisely, why don't you?

I don't talk too much about my wife in this site, mainly because I never see her and have no idea what she's up to these days, but from what little I do write, it should come as no surprise that she is insane.

Her volunteering efforts led her to a large Vietnamese family living in a small apartment, non-English speakers all, and thus began our association with the people that we would later shoot full of sick on our uniquely American Thanksgiving holiday. But first Sharon made them shop for the bullets. So to speak.

There were about ten members of the family and all morning I've searched for a picture of them that I could post here or at least help me remember names, but I've found nothing. I remember a few children, many adults, and an elderly couple that liked to laugh and were older than I thought people could ever be, which since I was just out of college probably put them in their mid-40s. My wife visited them in their apartment once a week for English lessons, and when November came, she decided to turn Thanksgiving into what educators call a 'teachable moment' by dividing up the family into teams, giving them each a list, and taking them down to Schweggman's to buy groceries for our Thanksgiving dinner. Because for a family trying to adjust to a new life in the US, there exists no better English phrase to learn than, "Pardon me, on which aisle will I find the Cheez Whiz?"

When Thanksgiving day came, we carpooled the family out to our apartment, which was even smaller than theirs, and we crowded around borrowed card tables and sat on borrowed chairs. We feasted on turkey and cornbread stuffing and broccoli casserole. We had asparagus and squash and pies and pies and pies. We smiled and laughed and communicated poorly and gestured wildly. And then they went outside and threw up.

All of the sixteen subsequent Thanksgivings Sharon and I have celebrated together since then have been measured by that yardstick: the did-more-people-vomit-than-in-1992 yardstick. If the answer is no, then Thanksgiving was a success.

The answer has yet to be yes.

Comments

[sezwho]

So, are the Vietnamese allergic to turkey or pies? Was the turkey undercooked? Did they overeat? These questions and more are piling up in my pea sized brain and it hurts, Brian, it hurts.

If you please, why did they vomit?

[Meg]

Too much Bourbon? Or pink turkey? If it's the former, sign us up for the 2009 Looky Daddy Thanksgiving Extravaganza!

i, too, need to know.

[Clare]

While I want to say congratulations, and I will, mostly I want to know what you poisoned these poor people with. And did they run back to Vietnam shortly thereafter?

[WendyP]

You might want to change recipies for your Thanksgiving goodies. I'm just sayin'.

[Jennifer]

A close friend is married to a Cambodian woman. She tells us that her first year in the United States, her family was given a turkey by a relief agency. Not knowing what to do with it, and worried about giving offense by throwing it away, they buried it in the backyard. Our friend spends thanksgiving with us every year, his wife stays home.

[liz]

When I saw the title of the post I thought you were going to tell us how much you drank at "The Thanksgiving Bar".

Darn!

[feefifoto]

Around the time you were floundering around New Orleans attempting to teach English to unsuspecting Vietnamese, I was trying to teach English to a Russian family. On our first visit I brought some fashion magazines because every new American needs to know how to identify Glamour dos and don'ts. On a subsequent visit I took them to a supermarket and practically had to pick them up off the floor when they discovered the sheer magnitude of choices for everything except possibly licorice, since there always seems to be just one kind of licorice that nobody wants anyway. I remember trying to explain that, in spite of all the choices, they should just buy whatever laundry detergent was cheapest, since it's all the same anyway.

Fortunately, no vomiting.

[Jordan]

I don't know how other readers can be concerned with what made the Vietnamese vomit when I am still all twisted up inside these sentences and trying to figure out if Thanksgiving has ever gotten better for you:

"the did-more-people-vomit-than-in-1992 yardstick. If the answer is no, then Thanksgiving was a success.

The answer has yet to be yes."

It's the whole double-negative thing, I think, and my brain is on fire trying to figure it out tonight. That's the sign of a long day. Maybe in the end it's easier to just ask why they all vomited?

[Brian]

Gee, I've never really thought too much about why the vomiting happened. I always just assumed it was the Cheez Whiz.

[KatStuff]

Is New Orleans where you learned that strawberries in the tequila trick? I went out and put that together right after you posted about it, and just remembered now that it is sitting in the back of my fridge. Will it make me puke?

[The Mom]

Sweet Love: Your in-law induced dry heaves at subsequent Thanksgivings don't count.

KatStuff: Treat the strawberry tequila with the same respect you should treat all tequila, and you'll be okay.

[Slim]

Meg: "Too much bourbon"? Isn't that like "too much chocolate"?

[You can call me, 'Sir']

I think you just hit on an excellent way to limit immigration into the country:

Invite immigrant families over for Thanksgiving. Feed them. Make them throw up. Watch them flee back to their homeland for fear that this country celebrates all of its holidays with vigorous puking.

[Miss Britt]

Funny. That's how I measure the success of my parenting.

[Carmi]

Vomit has always been a fantastic yardstick of success for big family events. We use it to rate weddings, bar mitzvahs and even the kids' birthday parties (one of the uncles-who-shall-not-be-named likes to tipple a little beyond his limit.)

Which reminds me, we've really got to stop holding these things at our house. Better on someone else's furniture than mine, I always say!

[kristi]

For some reason I have high hopes for 2009...

[Bennie]

Count us as another family that measures the success of an event by either lack of or plenty of vomiting. By the way, that dirty word was not intended for you. I have a friend named *&^%ers.

[Miles Adderly]

lol. Great way to teach English and introduce them to your Thanksgiving. I can only imagine what they told their relatives.

[Mauigirl]

That's hilarious. Those poor people! Maybe they were used to vegetarian Vietnamese fare and the turkey and fixings were just too rich for their systems.

Here is a touching story for you. A friend of mine did that stint of volunteering to help teach English to some people who happened to be from Russia. As a result of the friendship they developed, she ended up volunteering to let them stay with her when they lost their lease on an apartment and had to find a new place to live. The whole family moved into my friend's 1-BR apartment. For a month. By the time they left my friend vowed never to see them ever again! End of touching story...

[serns]

Cheez Whiz was invented in a brick building in Chicago near what is now Navy Pier. At least, that's what the driver of the tour bus claimed.