Trotting Out My Turkey

This is the November edition of the print version of After the Bubbly, an award winning family humor column. If you’d like to see it in a local publication, let me know and I’ll do my best to get it there!

In the third grade my son’s class put on a Thanksgiving program. Imagine my pride at having him appear as both a turkey and a rapper and read the essay he wrote about being thankful for his education. We value overachievement here. As it turned out, he wasn’t the only one expected to perform.

Two weeks before the show, I received a note from the music teacher saying that because my child had been chosen to be a turkey, I needed to cover a white t-shirt completely with feathers. Use a hot glue gun, it said. The tone had a distinct air of condescension: if you’re not able to make the costume, please call the music teacher. That’s a dare if I’ve ever heard one.

I’m not too interested in competing with other moms via my child, but I’m also not one to back down from a challenge. I skipped off like a good mommy to Hobby Lobby where an entire aisle is devoted to feathers. These are not cheap, especially the turkey-appropriate colors like brown, white, and black. How badly could a fuchsia and chartreuse turkey stand out from the crowd anyway? I compromised, buying one packet of the good feathers and a value pack for filler.

I also bought a natural colored t-shirt because I figured that might make up for my feather scrimping. At least if I ran out of feathers he’d have a turkey-ish color showing through. I bought glue sticks and said a little prayer that my trusty glue gun still worked, because no way was I buying another one of those. At the register I smirked at my ability to get out of there for under ten bucks.

That night I waited impatiently for the glue to melt in the barrel of my ancient gun and started sticking. I attached a few feathers to my own shirt and burned off some fingerprints, but overall I rocked the turkey shirt. After about a half hour, I called it good, even if there were a few spots of natural showing through.

Judging from the feedback I received the next day after the dress rehearsal, I should have kept going. 

“You forgot the sleeves,” a neighbor girl noticed. As if turkey legs have feathers. Sheesh.

My son, ever the encourager, pointed out that one kid wore a plain t-shirt. Plain! I’d done a better job than at least one mom. That was good enough for me. 

On show day, as I took my seat in the cafeteria, tens of turkeys graced the bleacher stage. Some of them looked like Vegas acts and others looked like, well, kids being forced out in public with feathers glued to their shirts. My son may not have been the most attractive fowl, but his ‘Turkey Boogie’ blew the others’ out of the barnyard and his essay proved that he is one smart bird.

I just feel sorry for all those competitive moms whose kids had no t-shirt showing through.