You want my favorite Thanksgiving story?
Okay, BK, you asked for it.
I love Thanksgiving. I have very warm childhood memories of that holiday.
Every year, we would have a family gathering at our home. My aunt, uncle and two cousins, as well as my half-brother Hersh and his family were always there.
We'd sit around the table and, after everybody had stuffed themselves, people would tell jokes. My uncle, Kenneth, was the #1 storyteller, but on this particular year, I also decided to contribute to the merriment...with disastrous results.
I think it was 1954. I would have been thirteen-years-old.
Without contemplating the consequences, I told this very funny joke that I'd heard at school, and I told it very well.
Correction. I didn't just tell it very well. I told it brilliantly. I had a captive audience.
Then, I came to the punch line...which ended with the word
"f**k".
My mother, who'd had a few too many drinks in her, started laughing hysterically. No matter what else you say about her, she was a wonderful audience.
Unfortunately, everybody else at the table sat in a stunned silence. If my mother hadn't been laughing, you could have heard a pin drop.
You see, in 1954, a thirteen-year-old boy did not say
"f**k"...particularly in front of adults.
The first one to speak was my father. Pointing at me, he started shouting at my mother,
"You're the one who encourages him! This is all your doing!"
Within two minutes, all of our very embarrassed guests had excused themselves and left our house.
I don't recall if I was sent to my room or not, but I know I never told another joke at Thanksgiving dinner.
