I’m wondering if this is still a thing. It conjures memories of a rickety card table set a reasonable social distance away from the big-people’s table. When you’re 9 it seems a bit like punishment but upon reflection I find myself taking stock of the advantages.

There isn’t a crowd surge when the passing begins. You avoid the flurry of dishes whisking and whirling around the table which always seems to happen in both directions. It is amazing that there aren’t more serious casserole injuries in the E.R.

Manners. At the kid’s table, you are not constrained to adhere to Emily Post’s guide for dining with Royalty. No one is watching which fork you choose. No one cares that you tuck your napkin into your shirt, and you don’t have to eat one pea at a time. At the adult table they seem to be overly concerned with the correct capacity metrics of flatware.

Lipstick. I’m not sure why this one is stuck in my mind, but at one time it was a cultural imperative that all aunts, great-aunts, grandmothers and other matriarchs of various rank wore red lipstick. This alone was not cause for concern. It only became weird when you had to stare at the red imprints that were left on their drinking glasses. It was weirdly hypnotic and disturbing at the same time.

The adult table was glazed over with the veneer of civility in odd juxtaposition to the volume of voices, the over-talking, the arguing, the debate, the parry and thrust of politic. It seemed that the feast grew cold over there in favor of righteous indignation.

Overcrowding. No matter how you slice it, a card table only has the capacity of one person per side. Not even your skinny cousin Bobbie could squeeze in and disturb the perfect symmetry of the square. In stark contrast, everyone who had entered or exceeded puberty was packed into the adult table like sheep in a shearing-chute.

At the kid’s table, someone placed a plate full of delicious food in front of you correctly portioned, perfectly separated so no peas were in the mashed potatoes. And if, you were a good boy or girl you could politely ask for seconds and one of your attendants would bring you more. You never had to lift a finger.

So this year at Thanksgiving, break all the adult rules. Drink chocolate milk if you like it. If turkey’s not your thing, eat nothing but the pumpkin pie. Don’t worry about spilling on your Sunday best. Wear your sweats or better yet your jammies. Don’t debate, don’t even engage and let the quiet wash over you like a hot shower. This year instead of feeling blue that Thanksgiving doesn’t feel the same, be renewed. Sit at the kid’s table. And if you want, you can turn the TV on. The adults wont even notice.