One of my cherished unpleasant flashbacks arrive every year during Thanksgiving.
First, a few facts:
I was born a few days after Thanksgiving Day in 1961.
At birth, I weighed just over 11 pounds.
Butterball Turkeys were at the height of their popularity.
I had six older brothers and sisters.
They were evil.
One of my earliest childhood memories was waking up from a nap and looking out through a tiny window from the inside of my sisters Easy Bake Oven. My feet had been tied with string and my arms tucked under my legs. One of my brothers had smeared butter all over my head, belly and diapers. They seasoned me with salt and peppered.
My sister insisted that a big fat pink baby turkey like me needed to bake for days. Just turn on the heat and forget about it until you can smell it.
And that’s exactly what they did.
My dad found me later that evening, still in the oven, being kept nice and warm by the 40 Watt light bulb Easy Bake Ovens used. He could also smell the stuffing in my diapers.
That Christmas I spent a day at the Post Office in a box addressed to the North Pole. Compliments of my siblings. Postal workers grew suspicious since everyone knew that Santa didn’t have a Return Department and the green paper tree car air freshener that was glued to the outside of the box seemed a little out-of-place.
What great horrible holiday memories do you have?