I spent 6 hours cooking Thanksgiving dinner in my own kitchen. And when my daughter-in-law looked across my dining room table at 7:15 that evening and said, “Dad, would you mind eating in here tonight? My father really needs the elbow room.” I smiled, picked up my plate, and walked back through the swinging door.
What I did in that kitchen over the next 20 minutes had everybody in that dining room screaming before dessert ever hit the table.
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If this story finds you tonight, drop a comment and let me know which city or state you’re watching from. The story you’re about to hear contains dramatic elements crafted for narrative purposes, but the weight of it, that part is real.
The ham went into the oven at 5:08 in the morning. I know the exact time because I had been watching the clock on the microwave above the stove, the way I used to watch the clock on job sites for 32 years, not from anxiety, but from habit.
