Norman Rockwell

You know that picture Norman Rockwell drew, of the insanely perfect family at an insanely perfect Thanksgiving? Well, if you don’t here it is:

           

            Sometimes I’ve looked at it and wondered what the real story is. Which of the adults recently went through a bad divorce? Which kid is a shoplifter? Who is missing at their table, and why? I know, that’s kind of dark, but things are never as perfect as they seem—not even during the holidays.    

            Dad and Eliza refused to come down—to be reduced to guests at Charlie’s parents in their own home town would be too great an embarrassment. I wasn’t invited up to join them, either, though I’m sure I would have been fine with letting me come. It just felt weird going without the invitation.

             

            So I tagged along with Marie to her in-laws’ for Thanksgiving, as I was given an invitation there. Might as well, since my roommates were going there, too, right?

            When over at Charlie’s parents’ house, things were normal, I suppose. I mean, it wasn’t like one of the holiday episodes of a 90s sitcom where the turkey burns and the toddler gets into the pies and the annoying extended family comes and messes up the house. The food was all delicious, we had some nice conversation, I played the piano (no Elvis or Sara Bareilles, thank you), and overall it would have made a horrible TV show.

            But after a few glasses of wine, Charlie’s mom got some tears in her eyes. She looked at Charlie, Hannah, and Lucy, saying that it was their first Thanksgiving all together in six years. Then the tears increased, and she said that if only Ricky were here, it’d all be perfect.

            Ricky is a late son of theirs, he died over in Iraq eight years ago. While the three others are all very ambitious and smart, Ricky never really found anything he was good at. Unless you count harassing women a talent—I had the misfortune of being in the same year as him in school, but was plain enough that he didn’t bother groping me or making obscene comments about what I was wearing in class. Ricky barely graduated high school and spent years living off of his parents, refusing to find work or go to school. Finally, his father kicked him out of the house. Desperate for a quick way to get money and benefits, he joined the Navy. And in his first tour out, he died of injuries he got during an explosion.

            It’s one of those awkward situations where he was such an awful person, but nobody wants to say anything against the dead, especially in front of his mother. And perhaps I’m being too harsh. He was funny, when he wasn’t being offensive. And he was an excellent basketball player. I didn’t know him too well, so I’m sure there was probably something to miss. 

Anyway, while Charlie’s mom began to cry, Hannah and Lucy tried to comfort her and tell her that Ricky died protecting our nation, but she wasn’t allowing herself to be comforted.

            She ran back into her room and came stumbling out with a dirty, torn letter. It was the only one Ricky wrote during the six months he was in Iraq, just two weeks before his death. She pushed it to Charlie and asked him to read it out loud, which he did. We didn’t get past the first line, though, because Ricky mentioned he was writing with encouragement from a certain Fred everyone had been recently acquainted with.

            This sent their mom into shrieks. She demanded someone call Fred so she could talk to him right now. But, please understand, she wouldn’t have done this normally. She would have waited for him to come around again to talk, but she was tipsy and already sad about Ricky.

            Lucy pulled up his number and her mom called him. I only heard her side of the conversation, obviously, but whatever he said to her seemed to calm her down. She brought up her son, and how they served together in Iraq, and how Fred must have been such a good friend, didn’t he remember encouraging Ricky to write to his family? Then she asked Fred if he knew if Ricky said anything before he passed away. I don’t know what Fred said back to her, but she cried all over again and kept on saying “thank you, thank you, thank you” into the phone.

            After that, her husband insisted she go to bed and rest. Hannah and Lucy seemed a bit embarrassed by it, they kept on telling me that she never acts like that, this was a one-time thing. They said that I would understand, wouldn’t I, the grief of losing someone close to me? And I do. I’ve done some strange things because of losing people. Chopped off my hair, worn nothing but sweatpants and hoodies for a year, had a diet that consisted of nothing but coffee and saltines.

            And I think that’s where Norman Rockwell got things wrong. We’re all hurting over something, even if we’re happy, there’s always going to be something in all our lives that bring us to call an acquaintance on a major holiday to ask questions about someone he probably doesn’t remember. And that’s fine, that doesn’t take away from the joy of a new baby or everyone coming to Thanksgiving. But it still affects us, and comes back to haunt us, no matter how perfect the outside may seem.