As I'm about to celebrate my 54th Thanksgiving, I thought I'd share several Thanksgiving memories.
Thanksgiving Day 1972. I'm pretty sure I have the year correct. Derby played Shelton at Lafayette School. I remember that it was very cold and if I recall correctly, there was freezing rain falling. Back in those days, the Derby-Shelton game attracted thousands of people and bleacher seats (especially at Lafayette) were at a premium. This game stands out because it was the first time I remember my dad getting angry with someone. He got angry with my brothers and sister plenty of times, but he was generally a very nice person. I left my seat to go buy a cup of hot chocolate. As I was returning, a man tried to take my bleacher seat. My dad confronted him and said, "this seat is saved." The guy replied, "they don't reserve seats here." My dad looked the guy in the eye and said, "they do now." I was proud as I saw the guy walk away sheepishly while my dad stood his ground and welcomed me to stand beside him. I'm sure Derby won...they always did back then and later the family would have all been fighting over the white meat at the table.
Thanksgiving Day 1979. I was getting ready to play my final football game for Derby High School. I had a decent senior year. In my first varsity start against Branford, I caught 8 passes for a new single game receiving record. I'm amused to think of how much the game has changed since that time. If you think of it, Derby football had been around since the early 1900's and through 70 plus years, the receiving record was 7 catches in a game.
Later in the season against Amity, I tied my own single game record of 8 catches. As we entered the Shelton game, I needed 4 catches to break the all-time single season receiving record held by the great Dave Berey.
We entered the game with a 4-5 record and it looked like we were going to be the first DHS team coached by Lou DeFilippo to have a losing record. A week earlier we entered the Cheshire game with a 3-5 record. We had lost to Seymour that year by a score of 64-16 and Cheshire had beaten Seymour.
We ended up beating down Cheshire and headed into the Shelton game with a chance to avoid a losing season.
In a previous blog, I mentioned how Walt Lungarini scored the winning touchdown against Shelton by stepping in front of a pass that was intended for me. I remember walking from the end zone to the 50-yard line with a double claw (for those of you not familiar with the claw, it was a gesture we used my senior year...we'll leave it at that) that I extended to both sides of the field. Coach DeFilippo hated "hot dogs" and those who drew attention to themselves rather than the team, but this was the first and last time I ever was caught up in a game moment.
Afterwards, Coach presented me the game ball and I gave a little speech to the underclassmen about never quitting. Note: I only caught two passes that day, so the season reception record stood.
Looking back, this was the last Thanksgiving my family was together. The next year, I was in the Air Force and the year after that, my brother was in the Marine Corps. A memory of this day is when my father called us to the dinner table. The table was set with the same familiar green set of china that had been on our table for as long as I can remember.
Dad called at least three times before we all gradually entered the room to sit down for dinner. We were all seated when my youngest brother, Kevin entered last and sat down in his seat with no shirt and wearing a pair of underwear. My father said, "what the hell do you think you're doing?" Kevin answered cluelessly, "what?" I distinctly remember my father smacking him across the ass and saying, "don't you ever come to my dinner table in your underwear." Of course, the rest of us laughed as Kevin went scampering off to his room.
After dinner I met with many of my classmates to celebrate our victory.
Thanksgiving Day 1980. I celebrated the day by attending mass in the chapel of Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi. I remember being away from my family and a sense of loneliness.
Thanksgiving Day 1981. The morning began by heading to Storks Tavern to partake in their 25-cent draft beers. At some point, I painted my face with war paint and headed to the Derby-Shelton game.
I remember waking up that evening and realizing it was still Thanksgiving. It was soon apparent that I was alone in the house and that I had missed the Thanksgiving meal (undoubtedly I had too much fun in the morning).
This particular Thanksgiving is memorable not only for the pre-game festivities, but also for a Vermont trip. A bunch of my former classmates were renting a cabin in Vermont and had invited me. When I awoke from my stupor, I washed my face, looked at the clock and realized I had 15-minutes to get my act together in order to meet my pals.
I gathered my wits about me and grabbed a tooth brush, a jacket and left for Vermont for a 3-day party. There would be hell to pay for missing the meal and for running off to Vermont without telling anyone, but at 19-years-old, I figured I would deal with the consequences when I returned.
Thanksgiving Day 1982. I was living in California and celebrated with my grandparents and uncle.
Thanksgiving Day 1984. I had returned to Connecticut. My dad was in the best shape of his life. He was 52 and running 5-miles each day, however, he had developed a cough that had lingered for about two weeks. He was popping cough drops every few minutes, but nothing seemed to help.
I remember coming to dinner that night and as I looked at him, I was overcome with a sense of dread. I kept it to myself, but as he coughed during the meal, I felt something was not right. A week or so later, he went for an x-ray and was told he had terminal lung cancer. He was diagnosed in December and fought until April when he passed.
Thanksgiving Day 1988. My mom and I decided to hop on a plane and surprise our California relatives. We arose early, caught a flight to LA, rented a car, and were at my uncle's dinner table for the Thanksgiving meal. We hadn't told a soul and it was a great day and weekend.
Thanksgiving Day 1994. This was the day I proposed to Patsy. I had purchased an engagement ring and decided I would pop the question after the meal. Dinner was at her parents home and her family were around the table.
After dinner, I went downstairs to ask her dad for her hand. Let me set the scene. Her dad's name is Pasquale. Pasquale was as tough as his name sounds. He coached me in Pop Warner football and was a larger than life Derby figure.
The two of us were alone in the basement when I said, "I'd like to ask Patsy to marry me, but out of respect, I'd like to ask you for her hand first." He replied, "Sure, do you want a beer?"
With his blessing in hand, I decided I would ask Patsy to go for a walk. The family was laughing and joking and I finally said, "Patsy, do you want to take a walk with me?" Her response, "What are you crazy? It's cold and we haven't had dessert."
"Go ahead. Go for a walk," said Pasquale.
Patsy reluctantly left with me and we walked down Derby Neck Road until we got to perhaps the most scenic overlook in Derby. We were near the barn overlooking McConney's Farm with its view of the Housatonic River below when I finally asked her to marry me.
In the subsequent years, our children and nieces were born, and we've lost many of our beloved family members. Through it all, we still follow our old traditions (mom still breaks out the green china each year) and we've started our own traditions.
For the past decade, Patsy and I have hosted a Thanksgiving breakfast for our families and friends. The breakfast is a way for us to get our families and friends together first thing in the morning before everyone goes their own way to dine with their extended families.
On a side note, I'm still waiting for someone to show up at my dinner table shirtless and in their underwear. When they do, I will be sure to keep alive my dad's tradition of that great '79 Thanksgiving.
The Pickleman thanks you for reading and wishes you all a very Happy Thanksgiving.
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