Pappy looked thin. I was young but I knew what cancer was. I knew that it was making Pappy, who was an oak tree in my mind, look frail. The dark, navy blue, long-sleeved shirt he was wearing made him look even thinner. I remember a heavy silence in the room as mom and Auntie Colleen served Thanksgiving dinner. Mandy and I exchanged worried glances, looking from Pappy, to our mom. Sitting next to Margaret, who looked like she was holding back behind tight lips a swell of tears, Pappy watched us. Dinner started and the stilted conversation trucked along
Just about everybody was eating except for Mandy who sat moving her portion of turkey around on her plate. Margaret, who hadn't said much during the evening, looked at Mandy's plate. "You should finish your dinner, Mandy." She said.
Mandy looked up at her, total defiance on her face.
"There are kids in Africa who would love something like that to eat, you know," Margaret continued in her Scottish accent.
Mandy ignored her and moved onto flattening her mashed potatoes with her fork.
Pappy was, like all of us, watching this showdown between a trembling Margaret and an immovable Mandy, when he broke the silence when he said, in his growly voice, "Why don't you send it to them then?"
Margaret turned to him in shock. We all did. Just then someone, I don't remember who, snorted out a laugh which, of course, got us all laughing the way you do when you know that you shouldn't. Pappy looked around at all of us and his stern look slowly turned into a smile. I looked at Margaret. She looked a little hurt but, as everyone was laughing, I think she decided to take one for the family.
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