MAYBE NO TALL BOTTLES OF DR PEPPER

BUT... I can recall with vivid detail memories from when I was a very small child.” I wasn’t bragging of prodigious memory, because, as the cliché puts it, I can remember what I did fifty years ago but not what I did yesterday. I was just responding to someone who was saying how he had hardly any childhood memories. The next morning early, Thanksgiving morning, I decided to put it to a test. Huhmmm. I thought for a moment, and, though it was still dark outside, the bright sunshine of a Thanksgiving near fifty years ago shined in my mind. I had to have been five or younger, because I started going with them around five years old. Every Thanksgiving morning, my dad and grandpa would go rabbit hunting. Grandpa and Grandma Hurst lived on the next street, but their backyard abutted ours. Just through the gate in the fence separating our yard from theirs at the back of their property was the dog pen. On any other day, if the dogs got out, they would run off in any direction. But on hunting days before Dad or Grandpa even got to the pen, the dogs would begin to act crazy happy running in circles, barking, jumping on the fence. They knew. They didn’t need a leash on hunting days. Just open the gate, and they tore up the path, around my grandparents’ house to their carport, waited behind their car, and barked for the humans to hurry up. Away Dad and Grandpa would go to bust some bunnies. Not long after, we kids would tear up the same path just as eagerly as the dogs had to get to Grandma’s house. We could smell the yeast rolls and other delicious things long before we got there. As we waited for the men to return, we played outside in the not yet raked leaves under the bright sunshine. In Oklahoma, leaves are raked later, and many Thanksgivings are still quite warm. More and more smells of the cooking going on inside mingled with the chatter of my grandma, mom, and aunt came wafting outside stirring seismic level hunger pains. Would they never get back from hunting? It was a joyful harbinger to see Grandpa’s car coming down the road. Dinner would be not long following. Soon, we were all seated around the table, except Grandma. She always stood behind Grandpa’s chair while he prayed. She’d rest her hands on the top rung of the back of his chair and look content as he prayed for each in the family and anybody else he could think of. I don’t remember everything, but I can clearly see the tall 16 ounce Dr Pepper bottles all around the table. There was the made-from-scratch dressing (Not filling, not stuffing, dressing.). Then, oh yes, those mashed potatoes. There was the butter pooling on top, but, for some reason I always think of the black pepper contrasting so vividly with the white of the potatoes. The rolls. There is no substitute for hot, home-made yeast rolls. Thankfully, there was some butter left over from the potatoes. Next to the potatoes on the plate, there was some of Mom’s cranberry salad loaded with pecans. I’ll skip the rest of the main meal. It is sketchy after those mentioned things that truly matter and considering what was coming up—dessert. Homemade--with Oklahoma’s own--pecan pie. And, as heavenly, the coconut pie with homemade meringue. All of that looking back might be pretty boring to you, but it caused me to look forward. The Marriage Supper of the Lamb. However, I suspect that Supper isn’t about the food; It is about the fellowship. The best thing at a table is the love and fellowship among those family and friends who are eating. The food is just the facilitator of the fellowship. What a day when we sit together with family (some who went long ahead of us), friends, and Jesus and share wonderful fellowship. There may not be mashed potatoes with large grains of black pepper, or coconut pie with homemade meringue, or yeast rolls, or even tall bottles of Dr Pepper—all those things are pretty culture specific. But, there will be joyful togetherness, fellowship divine—and, any bunny, if rabbits are there, will not need worry about being chased.

MAYBE NO TALL BOTTLES OF DR PEPPER

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