Whatley as a youngster being held by his "ganmama" (seated in center)

Thanksgiving Turkeys

By Will Whatley

U.S. Highway 231 runs through Montgomery, where I was raised, to Dothan, where I felt at home. I’d walk up those brick steps, go through the little Astro-turfed green room, and by the time the door to the den was opened, there she was with only a greeting a grandmother could give.

She was no ordinary grandmother, though. She was Janie to her friends, but to this big, dumb Sasquatch of a human, she’ll forever be “Ganmama,” a term engrained into the whole family by cousin Melinda. Cousin Laura got married on Ganmama’s birthday, Nov. 22, because when you get the chance to involve that woman into your life in any way, you move mountains to make it happen.

Thanksgiving was always my favorite holiday because it was about being with family. And I loved going to Dothan. My mother’s family are true salt of the earth folks, the kinds of people the Bible wants folks to be, but distance was an issue in seeing them. To go see Ganmama, a widow who’d raised two of her four kids on her own, I just had to hop in one of my dad’s 18-wheelers, maybe take a detour through Andalusia, but I knew when I showed up on the Circle, I’d feel as special as the day I was born.

Fast forward to starting my family, and things weren’t easy. My former wife and I endured three rounds of IVF in hopes of starting our own family. None of them worked, but we lucked ourselves into an open adoption situation with two other families. She was able to carry our children; it was an honor to give her the full motherhood experience after so much anguish.

On the morning of Nov. 22, 2018, when she was 35 weeks pregnant with twins, she told me she was worried because she couldn’t see out of her left eye. I knew that wasn’t good, but she knew Thanksgiving was important to me and didn’t want to keep me from spending time with my family. The same woman who went through HOSTING a Thanksgiving dinner, making sides and washing dishes and everything, with a broken wrist and elbow because our old dog Moose managed to yank her off her feet after having one of his back legs broken, wanted to make sure I didn’t miss time with my family. She knew what the holiday meant to me, and she’s a trooper.

Thankfully, in the spirit of the Cowboys and Lions playing on Thanksgiving Day, I called an audible. We went to Montgomery’s Baptist East hospital, just in case, and then an emergency C-section was scheduled. I was wearing a ratty Tide-themed T-shirt, jogging pants that were missing the drawstring and the elastic couldn’t handle, and foot-bibs over my filthy flip-flops. We had two gifts from God from a selfless mama. It wasn’t until my father, Ganmama’s son and namesake of mine, told me that my Thanksgiving babies were born on her birthday that things began to click as to how wildly special the moment was. It’s still something I can’t fully comprehend, but there’s no doubting the sign I was sent: God, Yahweh, Allah, whatever you call that force of goodness, It smiled on me in that moment.

I know Christmas is an important holiday, but don’t disrespect the bird. Enjoy the time with your tribes. Appreciate those who aren’t here, cherish those who are. Thank those who work very hard cooking so you can fall asleep from that sweet, sweet tryptophan watching the Cowboys be terrible. Give your cousin a good hug, but not a lingering one. Make sure your people know you appreciate even the smallest of gestures. Get those grandkids, nieces and nephews all excited before they get in the car with their parents for their drive back home.

Stand at the end of the driveway waving bye. Never let those who mean the world to you ever leave wondering how you might feel about them.