gobble

One Thanksgiving, when I was about nine, probably, I taped a construction-paper-red waddle to my face, squatted down, and walked around the kitchen and the house saying: gobble.

Gobble. Gobblegobblegobble. Gobblegobble. Gobble? Gobble. Gobblegobblegobblegobble. ... Gobble.

I was also holding my arms as if they were wings.

This went on for hours.

When I the turkey needed a rest, I would go sit alone in the living room and stare at the wall, still holding my arms as wings.

I remember doing this as the stuffed turkey went into the oven, and doing it once the sun had set and the kitchen was full of dim yellow light.

"Are you being a turkey?"
"Gobble."
"What are you doing here?"
"Gobblegobble."
"Okay, well, watch out turkey, I have to take this... dish... out of the oven."

I think I finally knocked it off when it was time to sit down to dinner, and remember being proud of myself for not breaking character for so long.

One of the many things I'm thankful for today is that nobody ever told me to stop being the (damn) turkey (already).