The pretty, auburn-haired cashier had flashed me a brief, perfunctory smile as she began scanning the grocery items I had placed on the counter. Now, judging from the blank expression on her face it was apparent her mind had drifted elsewhere even before the second item- a bag of frozen blueberries- slid across the barcode scanner. Normally, I’m a big proponent of customer service in retail jobs and would have been slightly put off by the indifference this girl was displaying.
But I found myself cutting her some slack. She was young, maybe nineteen, or twenty at the most, and probably a college student. Excelling at a job was not yet a priority in her world. Friends, social media, and which weekend parties to attend were likely the primary thoughts on her mind this cold Saturday morning. Nevertheless, I attempted to be friendly.
“It’s nippy out there today,” I said in lieu of a more formal greeting.
She looked at me for a moment, let out a very indifferent “Yeah,” and went on scanning my groceries. Slower than I would have liked.
Undeterred, I tried once more. “Looking forward to Thanksgiving break?”
This time she sighed. “I’m scheduled to work on Thanksgiving morning. All of my friends from high school are coming home Wednesday and we’re supposed to hang out. Sucks that I have to work the next morning.”
“It sure does,” I agreed, then added, “My daughter is coming home from college on Wednesday too.”
“Oh, really?” Her eyes lit up. “Did she go to Montgomery High?”
Right then it crossed my mind that I did not know this girl’s name. A quick glance at her name tag fixed that. Amanda G. “She did,” I nodded. “Graduated two years ago.”
And with that news, Amanda G’s face broke into a genuine smile. “I did too. What’s her name?”
“Christine Elliott.”
“Yeah, I remember her! We had a few classes together. Great girl.”
I wondered if she really meant it. Sometimes when a friend or peer of your child meets a parent of theirs by happenstance, the standard response is: ‘your daughter/son is great.’ Even if they think your kid is a complete ass. “Are you going to college now?”
“I am, but my grades in high school weren’t as good as they should have been. I’m at Raritan Valley now and will transfer to Rutgers next year.” Raritan Valley was a very good local two-year college.
“That’s great.” I meant it. Education is important. Amanda G finished checking out my groceries, bagged them and I paid the bill.
“Tell Christine that Amanda Gibson said was asking about her.” Another genuine smile as she handed me my change and the bag. Gibson. Second mystery solved.
“I’ll do that,” I promised. “Try and enjoy the weekend. It was nice to meet you, Amanda.”
And with that, the first errand of the morning was complete. Running errands is my established practice on Saturday mornings at this time of the year. Like most other middle-aged American males, I simply do not have free time during the week to do these chores. Instead, on Saturday mornings during the fall and winter months, I rise with the chickens and set out to do grocery shopping, pick up my suits from the dry cleaners, and whatever else needs to get done. The routine is shelved during the spring and summer when I play golf on Saturday mornings. I more than make up for it after Labor Day though.
I placed the grocery bag in the trunk and climbed into the driver’s seat of my BMW sedan. Thirty seconds later I was pulling out of the ShopRite parking lot into the southbound lanes of Route 206 headed towards Princeton. It was a little after nine and traffic was beginning to build up. Most of the other vehicles on the road now were late model luxury SUVs, or Mercedes, and BMW sedans driven by middle-aged men who were most likely out doing the same thing I was. We were a band of brothers whether we chose to acknowledge it or not.
The overhead sky was a deep lead overcast. A front was moving in that might bring snow showers to the area later in the day. Slightly surprising, but not entirely out of the question for Central Jersey in late November. It was certainly cold enough to snow now. The current outside temperature was 23 degrees and not expected to get above freezing again until Sunday afternoon. The winter season seemed to be starting earlier these days. Climate Change is supposed to be the reason why but the science behind it confuses me. The extended weather forecast for the upcoming week also warned of another system possibly dropping an inch or two of snow closer to Wednesday. That one will do wonders for Thanksgiving travel.
My next destination was the dry cleaners in Princeton, located directly across from the world-famous university of the same name. I was lucky enough to find an empty parking space on Nassau Street close to the cleaners. I parked the car, dashed in, picked up my suits, and brought them back out to the car. Since I was already in town I decided to get a coffee from Starbucks and then stepped into the barbershop for a quick trim. Afterwards, on the way back to the car, I noticed Labyrinth Book Store was open and subsequently spent a half hour browsing in there. Last, but not least, I stepped into the Princeton University store and purchased a new exercise t-shirt.
I’ll be candid about something here. I am a bit of a Princeton snob even though I live in Montgomery, which is only a stone’s throw away. A bit of a contradiction, I’m aware. But I love Princeton, town and gown. If the town’s property taxes were not excessively high, and the politics of its residents so regressively progressive I would have planted the Elliott family’s flag here years ago. To be fair, Montgomery is a better fit for my family and myself. It’s a very family-oriented town that politically and socially leans right. The schools are second to none, the township is responsive to the needs of residents, and the taxes are affordable. Still high by most standards but a pittance compared to what homeowners are paying in Princeton.
The roots of my Princetonian snobbery, however, stem from the fact that I’m a Princeton University alum.
I returned to the car carrying three books from Labyrinth, a gray Princeton Graduate College t-shirt, and shorter, neatly trimmed hair. All in all, it was a pretty successful morning jaunt into town. As I pulled out of the parking space the chime of my Bluetooth went off. On the GPS display screen my wife’s name and cellphone number appeared. I pressed the tiny button with the telephone graphic on the steering wheel.
“Good morning, honey!”
“Well, you were up and out of the house bright and early as usual,” Lori said, audibly stifling a yawn. This is the one day of the week she gets to sleep in. “What have you been up to, John?”
I ran through my morning errand list with her. “All that’s left is picking up rock salt from Home Depot. I’m thinking about putting it off until tomorrow.”
“It can wait,” she agreed. “But I’d appreciate it if you can pick up Danny from football practice.”
“You’re the soccer mom.” I protested weakly.
“This is my day off. Be a good husband and retrieve our son at noon please. I’ll make it up to you.”
It was 11:25 now and the high school wasn’t too far out of the way. Seeing my boy play football…even if it’s only during practice….is always worth the extra effort. “Alright, you’ve got a deal. Is there anything else you need for me to do?”
“No, that’s all.”
“Ok then. I’ll see you soon, honey. I love you.”
“Love you too,” she chirped and hung up.
I arrived at the high school, parked in the faculty lot and walked back to the field behind the school. Practice had wrapped up early, I discovered. While waiting, I made conversation with a few of the other parents who were waiting for their kids as well.
Danny is a tight end. He doesn’t start but gets a lot of playing time in the formations that the coach likes to run. Next year he will be a senior and the starting job will be his. He’s a good football player. Not great or a 6’3 230 pound stud like some of the kids playing high school ball now. Football won’t get him into college. Fortunately, he doesn’t need it to. He’s a good student and has a father who can pay his tuition. My daughter Christine is a sophomore at Brown right now. I can imagine what the bills are going to be once both of the Elliott children are enrolled in college at the same time. Lori does a lot of charity work so I hope she knows of a good food bank nearby.
The players began streaming from the locker room ten minutes later. Danny walked out with a few of his friends that I recognized. He saw me, waved, separated from the group and came over.
“Hey, Dad!”
“Hi. How was practice?”
“Alright.”
The two of us walked back to my car. I tossed his bag in the trunk. Danny got in, stretched out in the passenger seat and right away began texting on his phone.
“Ready to go?” I asked.
“Yeah.” I love the way teenagers communicate.
We drove in silence more or less. This is how car rides with him go at this age, yet I couldn’t help but notice silence was particularly heavy today.
“Is there anything wrong?” I asked. “You’re awfully quiet over there.”
“Everything is ok,” he assured me, then hesitated for a second. “Well, almost everything.”
“Let me hear it,” I ordered my youngest child and braced myself.
“Uncle Joe stopped by practice earlier.”
"Oh, no," I groaned. Uncle Joe is my brother-in-law. To this day I have a difficult time accepting that he and Lori are actually blood-related. The differences between them are too deep. In fact, I’m convinced that either my wife was adopted and no one told her, or there was a bassinet switch at the hospital shortly after her birth. Joe is a nice enough guy. He works hard at his job, takes his hat off before the national anthem plays, and loves football. But he is also a droll, opinionated simpleton who has a bad habit of showing up at my son’s football practices and causing merry hell.
“What did he do this time?” I asked, already dreading the answer.
“He yelled at Coach Lampkin. Told him I should be starting and not sitting on the bench.”
I wasn’t surprised at all. “That idiot,” I muttered beneath my breath. “What did the coach say?”
“Nothing. Just pretended like Joe wasn’t there. I was so embarrassed.”
“That’s your uncle for you,” I reminded the boy, wondering why none of the other parents had mentioned Joe’s visit to me. Most of them already knew who he was. The truth is that my brother-in-law annoys the hell out of me. I’ve tried countless times to give him the benefit of the doubt and every time I do, the son of a bitch goes and does something stupid like this. “Well, at least we won’t have to worry about him at the Thanksgiving game or dinner this year,” I remarked.
“What?” Danny looked at me nonplussed. “Joe’s not coming?”
I shook my head and suppressed a smile. “Your mother and I talked it over a few weeks back. This year it will only be the four of us. Think you can handle that?”
“Sure,” Danny answered and then went to his phone.
In the silence that came next, my thoughts moved ahead to the approaching holiday. For the first time in years Thanksgiving would be a jovial holiday in the Elliott house. No brother-in-law, father-in-law, or relatives of any type except for immediate family. Traditionally, Lori and I host the annual Thanksgiving feast for both sides of the family. The house fills up with people who I’d mostly rather not spend a major holiday with. They come over, eat my food, drink my liquor, and then fall asleep in my spare bedrooms. Essentially, they treat my house as if it were a Chinese buffet with a hotel attached. Then they all leave one or two days later and we do not see or hear from most of them again for 363 days or so.
This year was going to be different. Lori had seen the light and wanted this to be a quiet holiday for once. I was thrilled over her change of heart. Thanksgiving dinner in our house was going to be a civilized, enjoyable affair.
Or so I thought.