It was a Thanksgiving in the early 1970s. I was an early teen who loved getting together with family. I looked forward to the times that my aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents got together every year.

My Grandmother Sarah was the “Norman Rockwell” type grandmother who strived very hard to put on a Thanksgiving feast only seen in movies. Fine linens, special china, gold leaf drinking glasses, and every offering having its own special dish on a 12-person table.

The extended family would spend the day watching football, sneaking snacks and catching up with each other. The smells of the dinner would permeate the house, generally causing me fits of hunger by 3 p.m. Grandma always planned dinner for 4 p.m., sharp.

This particular year was going to be different. As usual, no one was paying attention to what Grandma was doing, as she did not allow anyone in the kitchen. Without warning she walked into the living room at 3:45 and announced that Thanksgiving dinner would be delayed until late evening, maybe 8 p.m. As you would expect, the entire family was dumbfounded. Grandma went on to explain that she had saved us all from being poisoned by the turkey. She explained that she would be going to the store to purchase a new turkey, and that dinner would be delayed.

This required my father to inquire as to why she thought we would be poisoned. Grandma then explained that the company packaging the turkey had left the “poisoned dart” still in the turkey and forgot to remove it before it was shipped to market. Of course Grandma had not read the label on the turkey. (Why should she?) My father investigated and found that the label showed that this year the turkey came equipped with a “pop-up timer.” Grandma assumed this was a dart used to euthanize the bird, so she did what any good grandmother would do and threw out the turkey.

After what seemed like a half hour of laughing and rolling on the floor, my father found the turkey out back on the porch in a pan. Fortunately, the bird was too hot to put into the garbage can, so Dad rescued the ostracized turkey in time for dinner. To compound Grandma’s embarrassment, in all the confusion she had forgot that she had put her dinner rolls into the oven. As you would expect the rolls were baked hard and black. No one missed the rolls that year, and everyone enjoyed the meal as usual, but the dinner conversation was quieter than usual. It took several years before Grandma would allow anyone to remind her of her family rescue.

As a side note: For seven straight years after that dinner, the rolls were left in the oven unintentionally and burned. No one could explain why. I think it was Grandma’s way of getting back at us.

(Brent C. Gaither lives in Coos Bay. He is an officer with the North Bend Police Department.)