The words over at Three Word Wednesday are give, obvious and thanks.
I go down to dinner, expecting to suffer through another meal where my parents mine me for information about my day while they ignore one another.
Instead, I hear laughter and a low chattering.
Around the table are six children, a bit younger than I, piling their plates high with one of mom’s overblown feasts.
Each has a different skin color than our own and each jabbers in a language I don’t understand.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“We’re celebrating,” dad says, pretending to walk turkey legs across the table and onto a plate of a little dark-skinned girl with a red dot between her eyebrows and a boy with black hair and pale skin that’s kinda yellow.
I sit and the boy next to me tugs on my shirtsleeve. His hair is a tight weave of curls and his skin the color of dark roast coffee. His smile is a picket fence of teeth, mostly missing. He’s trying to pass me a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes.
I roll my eyes and get up to leave.
My mother walks behind me and puts her hands on my shoulders.
“I think it’s obvious that he wants you to join us and give thanks,” she says, pressing gently. “You could at least try and be civil.”
The boy laughs and hands me the potatoes, from which I plop a mound and make a reservoir with the spoon, to hold mom’s gravy, which is in the hands of a brown-skinned girl, her dark hair woven into pigtails.