"My best friend, Magdalena, was inconsolable when she lost the race for her team." Remember that line from my award winning story? My story did win a short story contest for young writers, and it was based on a true story from my younger days, but I did not tell the whole truth in my story because it was before my affinity for truth, and, besides, no one would believe it. Here is the truth starring the meanest man in the world.
Each year at my old elementary school they hold a turkey run for Thanksgiving. The teachers hold a race for each grade level, and the winner receives a giant turkey to take home for their Thanksgiving meal. Even the teachers race for a chance to win a turkey for their table. Kind of a silly tradition, but a fun one.
It is a hysterical race to watch. They let the entire grade level line up and the first boy and first girl around the field, which is probably a half mile around, win a turkey. The principal says there are rules: no pushing, no shoving, etc. But, basically, once it starts, it is pandemonium. Imagine a hundred kids running around a field like a herd of vampires was chasing them. All screaming and elbowing and pushing and shoving. The teachers don't say anything because their race is even crazier, with usually at least one or two teachers on the ground before the finish. Teachers are by nature competitive.
The year of 5th grade, Magdalena was determined she was going to win the race. Her desire to win that turkey started with an art lesson. Our art teacher, Ms. Bondurant, (she insisted she was a Ms., not a Miss) was a thirty year teaching veteran who crossed the Virginia line after retirement to double dip. We knew this because she told us this, and while we had no idea what double dip meant, her added explanation of "sticking it to the man" sounded like something we wanted to do one day. Ms. Bondurant was cultured. We knew this because she told us this, and so when she introduced us to art and artists, Magdalena and I listened because we wanted to be cultured too one day.
Ms. Bondurant loved a good thematic lesson, so the week before Thanksgiving she introduced us to Norman Rockwell and his iconic painting, Freedom From Want. The painting of what looked like the perfect Thanksgiving meal was a new concept for me and Magdalena. We weren't the only ones.
"That's the biggest damn turkey I ever saw," whispered Yolanda Brown.
"Whose all those people?" asked Robert Fowler.
"That's family," answered Ms. Bondurant, who added, "Mr. Rockwell recognized that family is so important to his theme of freedom from want."
"My family comes over every holiday," said Yolanda out loud this time.
"Sure they do," said Ms. Bondurant. "Our families come over, and we all celebrate together."
"My Uncle Humphrey got drunk last Thanksgiving," continued Yolanda. "He was sure celebrating. He fell down the stairs. We had to take him to the 'mergency room."
"Well," said Ms. Bondurant who closed the topic quickly, "sometimes holidays can get out of hand, but that is ok because families all love one another. And we come together so we can show and share that love for each other."
For someone so cultured, Ms. Bondurant was somewhat naive. I could tell that Magdalena was troubled by the whole family and Thanksgiving conversation. I tried to cheer her up.
"It's usually just me and Nana and my mama at my house on Thanksgiving," I told her. "Last year we woke up late and watched the parade. Nana made biscuits and gravy and we fried bologna. We didn't even have a turkey."
"I ain't never had a turkey at my house," was all she said.
Magdalena decided she needed a turkey. She was determined. She was going to win the Turkey Run. Her chances were good. She was the fastest runner in 5th grade, boy or girl. During recess we ran around the walking trail because our P.E. teacher gave out little rubber charms shaped like tiny feet for our shoes for every mile we ran. We ran two miles every Monday through Friday just to get those tiny feet charms. We were in shape and we were ready. We decided if either of us won, the turkey went to Magdalena because her family needed it the most.
That particular November, Randall Michael Wall was on one of his "trips". His family did not see him for three and a half weeks. No one knew his whereabouts, and as usual, he left no money for his family to tide them over until his return. He was gone so long his wife thought maybe this was it. Maybe, he was dead. Maybe the meanness in him finally caught up to him. Who knew when or if he would be home.
The Salvation Army helped Magdalena's family out with some emergency food. There was plenty of potatoes, dressing mix, yams, a can of cranberry sauce, and a box of macaroni and cheese, not the creamy kind but the powdered cheese kind. But, there was no turkey. They were all given to a restaurant downtown that was providing meals to anyone who needed one. "You are certainly welcome there," said the volunteer, but Magdalena wanted the Norman Rockwell painting. She wanted the turkey at her house, around her table surrounded by her mom and sisters. Magdalena was determined to get a turkey for her family. She was desperate. The race was her chance.
You already know how this ended. She did not win and neither did I. Desperation is not the best running companion.
We were running ahead of the crowd, side by side, so close we could reach out and touch the finish line, but our feet tangled, and we went down.
Disqualified.
Magdalena, who is normally stoic and never lets the enemy see her cry, busted into tears. No, not tears, sobs. She was crying so hard she could not get her breath, so hard that I was embarrassed for her and for me.
"Magdalena was inconsolable when she lost the race for her team." Her team being her mom and sisters.
"Dang girl, it's just a turkey, " said the new winner, Yolanda Brown. "You want it that bad, you can have it."
"Is that ok?" I asked, "Can she give the turkey away?"
"Her turkey, she can do what she wants with it," said the principal. "That is very sweet of you, Yolanda."
"Thanks, Yolanda." said Magdalena.
This is how Magdalena was able to provide a turkey for her mama and sisters for Thanksgiving. It was the same twenty-five pound Butterball turkey glazed with oil in a tent of tinfoil that Randall Michael Wall pulled out of the stove too early, when it could still cause salmonella or listeria poisoning, and kicked out the back door to the dogs.
The turkey landed in the mud.
"We ain't taking no charity," said the meanest man in the whole world.
Author's Shout Out: To Dobson Elementary School who holds the Turkey Run every year and to my nephew, Max, who always supplied the family turkey by winning it.
Also, shout out to all the double dipping, stick it to the man teachers, thank you for continuing to love the children because I know you do.
And, shout out to all the PE teachers who have the kids "walk to Disney Land" or give trinkets for walking/running at recess. My daughter and her friends still hold a state record in track, and the seed was planted with those tiny, running-feet trinkets. Shout out to all the teachers planting those seeds, some they never see grow. Just know, they do.
Also, an Author insight, that line - "Magdalena was inconsolable when she lost the race for her team" was one of the first lines I wrote for this book, and I had no idea where it was going to fit in the story.