Blackhumouristpress's Blog

December 5, 2015

And They Broke Bread and Gave Thanks…

Filed under: chicago,elections,Ethnicity,humor,humour,ISIS,Short Story,trump — blackhumouristpress @ 2:23 am
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The Flannigan’s got together every Thanksgiving like just about every American with family does on the last Thursday of every November.  Thanksgiving is the first of three mandatory holidays that they all submit to gathering for every year.  Thanksgiving, then Christmas a month later and then it ends with Easter.

The Flannigan’s had a very Irish name but actually they were more Swedish than anything.  They had converted to Protestantism back around 1955 from Catholicism.  They became Evangelical Christians and so it became necessary and a duty to discuss god with anyone with ears.  Some of the Flannigan’s took the oath of accepting Christ as their own personal Jesus and in turn trying their level best to in a sense, sell Amway for god by asking people what their walk with the lord was.  For most people the question was like asking their sexual preference or even seedier personal sexual desires.  The devotion to Evangelical Christianity varied among the Flannigan’s from atheist to front row crusader.  Some among them decided that it was possible that god was not Evangelical Christian and then others concluded that just maybe there was no god.  On this particular day, god was not discussed during their Thanksgiving dinner.  Dinners with the Flannigan’s was always lively.  Someone inevitably throws out the first pitch while turkey gets passed with cranberries, string bean casserole with dried onions, rolls, sweet potatoes and so on.

“Did you guys see that video of the colored kid being shot like 60 times?”

The question was posed by Wade who now after the death of his father, Art, a World War II veteran, was the patriarch.  Wade, a Vietnam Veteran who had longish hair, tattoos, a Harley Davidson and a Corvette with a bronze medal license plate. After the war, Wade decided that there could not possibly be a god that would let such horrible things happen to innocent people.   He purposely called black people colored to get under the skin of his politically correct granddaughter who just happened to have an African-American boyfriend.

“Colored, grandpa?  Are we in the Deep South in the 1960’s?  Are we gonna git in the truck aftah dinnah and lynch us a colored?   That colored child was only shot sixteen times.  The cop ran out of bullets at sixteen.”

Edina, was racially cool.  She started attending an Episcopal Church that had a lesbian minister and all the people were really inclusive and mostly interracial couples.  Edina sort of wished she could be with her boyfriend RJ for Thanksgiving.  Last Thanksgiving was a bit of a cultural shock for Edina. It was as if she had gone to a foreign country.  RJ’s grandmother made a few recognizable things and some things she had never seen on a Thanksgiving table before.  Nobody really sat and had a meal together.  Men sat around the television and watched football.  People young and old came by and picked at stuff that was out and the women gave Edina the stare down- just another skinny white bitch who stole another good looking black man from the small pool of desirable men.  It would be weird among family or weird with her boyfriend’s family.  It was just going to be weird for her either way.

“Did you all know that this is the 50th anniversary of the death of JFK?  My what a good looking man and his wife was just a princess of a woman.  So refined and she could speak French and redecorate…  What a shame.  They say his head went flying all over the motorcade.  Cops had brains and blood splattered all over them…  That must have been something.”

Everyone stopped eating and talking and stared at Lorie, the matriarch who discussed some grizzly details in the middle of a meal.

Lorie, the wife of Art who was had recently died, was ninety years old.  She married after Art returned from World War II.  They had two children and moved to the suburbs.  Her job since 1947 was to be a wife, a mom, a thrifty shopper, a cook and a maid.  Instead of sitting to eat, she was folding the clothes that Wade had brought over to his mom to wash.  Everyone at the table kept telling her to sit.  She was slightly hard of hearing and then selective.

“It’s fifty two years, grandma.  I was born in 1965 and he died in 1963… Every Thanksgiving you bring up JFK.  Did you have a thing for him?”

Mathew was her grandson, father of Edina, son of Wade.   Mathew was indifferent to religion and politics but was very much into sports and music.  He grew up a Punk Rock kid in the 1980’s.

“I remember those horrible shirts you used to wear of one of those crazy bands.  Dead Kennedys…  After everything that family had to go through and to wear a shirt like that.  You had no respect for nothing back then.”

It was a famous photo of a Vietnamese man wincing just before being shot in the temple with a handgun with the words, Holiday in Cambodia.  It stirred Vietnam memories for Wade.

“I could have choked the life out of you when I saw that shirt.  I went over there to make democracy safe for young punks like you just so you could go around looking like an asshole and wearing shirts that piss everyone off.”

“Come on, dad…  That was a long time ago.  I grew up and got jaded just like you.  You don’t think I look at just about everyone under the age of twenty five and shake my head?  Glued to their cell phones, pants hanging off of their asses, stupid tattoos, and piercings.  Guys today want to be Olympic athletes and then turn chick…  I had a Mohawk and wore offensive t-shirts.  Look what’s going on today.  If you really hate the establishment and your government, you become an Islamic terrorist and kill fellow Americans…  You thought the world was coming to an end with Punk Rock.  Look at where we are today?”

Ryan, the ex-hippy turned born again Christian, wore a Ted Cruz button on his suit jacket.  Nobody else wore a suit.  Ryan’s wife was from Brazil.  Her name was Martha and she was black, Chinese and Hispanic that spoke Portuguese.  Everyone sort of forgot what she was exactly.  All they knew was that she was extremely born again, vegan and gluten free.  Martha didn’t quite understand everything being discussed but found it interesting.

“Martha… come on, sweetie.  You gotta have some of that good turkey and ham.  I got it at Honeybaked.  I would think you couldn’t get Honeybaked out there in Portugal,” said Lorie, while folding clothes.

“Ma!  Put the clothes down and come eat…  She speaks Portuguese.  She’s from Brazil.”  Said Ryan.

“Well, I know they don’t have Honeybaked there.  You’d be lucky to get a Mc Donald’s.”

Nobody had a response to that.  The television break from the football game flashed a picture of a young black male being shot in the street of Chicago by a police officer and the protesting going on in front of prestigious stores in Chicago’s downtown.

“If a cop tells you to stop and you don’t, you’re rolling the dice.  Carrying a knife and not listening to a cop is asking to get shot,” said Wade.

“Sixteen or sixty times, right grandpa?  They would have shot a white kid too, right?” Said Edina

“Fucking A right…  Let’s just drop it.  Cops are wrong, criminals are right.  Blacks got the right to thumb their noses at authority.” Said Wade.

“Grandpa, why are talking about this when we have so many terrorists coming here from Syria to infiltrate us and kill us.  Cops are only killing one segment of society but Syrian women and children are coming with bombs strapped to their chests to kill us unless we elect Trump to deport all illegals and refugees and when were done with them, deport all non-born Americans except his beautiful wife and any other super models and once we’ve gotten all of them, we’ll get rid of red haired people, freckled people and create a new master race of people with really bad hair.”

“Well honey, once the moderates have taken over Europe and North America, sharped tongue cuties like you will be stoned in the city center.  Hope you have a good head scarf and can recite the Koran when they come for you.  In the meantime, maybe you can come up with a way to re-educate the police here so that let criminals do whatever the hell they want.  If Hilary becomes president she can take care of all those things for you.  Chicago will look like Benghazi,” said Wade.

Several people groaned at the interchange.  Mathew asked what the score of the football game.  For a full five seconds nobody said anything.  Silverware clicked against plates and the announcers in the back ground commented on the football game.  Martha took break in the conversation as an opportunity to say something.  Nobody interrupted the woman who rarely spoke.  They had heard that she was taking an English as a second language course for four hours a day, every day.  Her English was coming along quite well.

“Do you want to know what I think?”

Everyone stopped eating and turned to the exotic looking woman.  This was a watershed moment.  The quiet foreigner who seemed to sit in her husband’s shadow asked everyone present if they wished to know what she thought.  Of course they were all interested.  Everyone looked at the exotic looking woman.

“China makes everything that anyone could ever want to buy and has an army of more people than there are people in the United States and they never have to send any troops to fight.  They don’t have terrorism and people are not shooting each other every day.  Why do you think this is?”

Everyone kept coming up with things on China for about a half hour until dessert was served.  Ryan received a text message from Martha who was sitting next to him.  It read-

SOMEBODY NEEDED TO STOP THESE PEOPLE   : )

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