I love thanksgiving dinner. Actually, I love that special carrot cake mom makes every year. I wait all year just for that. Only problem is, everybody loves it. And when there are plenty cousins to share with, I rarely get enough.
This time I wanted more. But mom wasn’t just going to hand me more, right? And no one would donate me their share either. So I had to devise a plan.
I could make mom and dad happy, and maybe they would reward me. That’s it! I would help them with dinner preparations. I went turkey shopping with dad and helped him with the light fixtures. When I entered the kitchen, mom was measuring flour for the cake.
“Can I help?” I smiled inwardly.
Mom probably raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Soon I was whipping cream, breaking eggs and grating carrots. By the time the oven tinged, I was covered in cake goo.
“What’s up?” Neil confronted me.
I feigned innocence, “Just helping out.”
“You hardly move out of your room, but today you even baked the cake!”
“I’m trying to get into Santa’s good books.”
“Seriously?” my kid brother narrowed his eyes.
I wanted to say, “Mind your own business,” but then he walked out quietly.
“Neeiiil,” I was awakened by mom’s yell the next morning. She was in the kitchen holding the cake.
“I had to check,” Neil whimpered, “I was sure Sheila had spoiled it.”
“Aahhhh!” it was my turn now. The cake was ruined. That big scoop on the side, could we serve it anymore?
“What do I do now? I have no carrots. And all shops are closed…,” mom was panicking.
I wanted to say, “Let’s eat it!” Instead, found myself saying, “Let’s bake a regular cake, cut this one and layer it.”
“Great idea; go ahead, bake one.”
“Me… no, I can’t!”
“Here’s a cake mix, just follow instructions.”
Thankfully the instructions were simple. For all my “helping-out” I deserved a gigantic piece now.
People started pouring in by five. The turkey was carved, the yams were passed out, and the mashed potatoes were scooped. As always I hung back in my corner, impatient for the party to end.
“Sheila, please serve the cake,” mom called out.
Great, that was my chance! I carefully cut it and stowed away the biggest piece. Then I began serving the rest.
“Mmmm…. Amazing, Emma!”
“Sheila baked it,” mommy gloated.
Soon everyone was all praises. I became the star of the evening. Everybody took helpings till the plate was squeaky clean.
I skipped back to the kitchen with a wide grin, when a small voice piped in.
“Can I have more?” that was Neil.
“I’m sorry…” mom began, but I cut in.
“Actually mom, there is a little more,” I said, handing over my share.
I did not even taste the cake that year. But what I tasted was much more delicious – togetherness of my family and the joy of sharing. The total spirit of thanksgiving!