I am sure some people will be up to no good today, doing something wild, and crazy, just because of the rare tri-eleven date. Or it being Veteran’s Day, many people will have a relaxing day off from life’s monotonous obligations [work, school…eh hem]. Or possibly, some people will have a remarkable day planned to do something spontaneous. And I am sure some people will spend all day making wishes. But I will be doing what I have always done on the 11th day in November. I will be gathering with my 5 siblings and loving mother as we mecca to the peaceful cemetery where my father was buried, 16 years ago.
“He went to Heaven to be with Jesus,” as my mom told me when I was just 7 years old, almost 8. I was such a big girl. I was away at Girl Scout camp when it happened, and firmly resisted going home early. You see, we had just spent ALL day long helping to prepare a Thanksgiving dinner; I was in charge of the pumpkin pies. Even as I received that earth-shaking, life-shattering phone call, I swept away the tears that were welling up in my blue eyes, took a deep breath, and marched right into the kitchen to check on the pies.
I bet you are wondering why in the world I didn’t just curl up in a ball and let the world disappear. Simple. God was in control. I knew, even then, that everything would be alright. I knew that life would roll on. More importantly, I knew that I had just spent all day preparing a feast and I certainly would not let all that time spent pinching the pie-crust edges, go to waste.
Apparently, food rocked my world, even then.
As the leaders urged me to go be with my family as the news pervaded the troop, I remained recalcitrant; it was obvious to me that I had plenty of time to morn, grieve, and heal. So why leave when the scent of a savory meal wafted through the cabin? Yea, I told my mom that she could pick me up tomorrow. I was given the honor of having the first taste of turkey, too.
16 short years ago, this precious memory stills remains dear to me. We don’t often choose the most prominent memories that we possess; maybe secretly, I knew that I was a foodie, hence the need to follow through with my feast. I’m no quitter!
I think this is making me sound like I was a fat kid. Believe me, I was the skinniest child; I could sign my metabolism up for the varsity track team, it was that fast.
Anyways, let me get to the good stuff. Here are some awesome pictures of my family’s previous November 11th celebrations. They should probably be submitted to AwkwardFamilyPhotos.com or something.
Looks like we have a lion’s mane or blafro (blonde afro) headlining this photo.
Check out Zoolander in the white. He is posing with the infamous “Blue Steel” look. Not completely sure where the gothlic-looking girl came from. Apparently, I was storing up for the winter–check out those cheeks! I really have nothing to say about Brian, in the front…”Whazzup braaa, I’m just catchin’ some rays with my gangsta bandana which is holding down my Justin Bieber hair.”
Myspace Pic! …No actually this is quite precious. My mom and I used to meet at my dad’s grave on occasion since my high school and her office were within walking distance. Yea, we played hooky sometimes, for the greater cause.
Mom’s taking a quick power nap on my shoulder. Brian is doing the jig really quickly. Totally normal.
I absolutely had to include this. The picture is already awkward enough, let along the awkward angle. I would just like to point out the cute couple in the background, gathering in a respectful manner. Then look at the foreground; a gaggle of hooligans laughing, goofing off, and most likely running around playing “tag” just seconds prior. Yes, the perfect juxtaposition. 
Ok, so I had to end with a good one. (this is a good one, right?)
Lastly, I leave you with this beautiful poem written by my older brother, Paul.
In Loving Memory of Thomas Paul Morris, who met his Maker on November 11, 1995.
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From the Little Yellow Kitchen,
Chrissy
