An empty oak chair on Thanksgiving. He sat there. Head of the table. Head of the family.

The first to receive the dishes from the kitchen. The one to cut the turkey. So precise, a great show. He used an electric blade once- he told us it wasnt theatrical enough for him. I think he liked old acts. Electric knives were not at the tables of kings and queens he joked with my mom. He wanted spectacle. He wanted the small details to be special for us. Before Thanksgiving dinner, he would bring in the big chef knife, wrapped in a dish towel. The sharpening steel in his left hand. Hed set them both down on the table before us. Usually it was just me and my two brothers. My cousin Chris showed interest every so often. The rest of the family would be in other rooms- the women in the kitchen, the men in the living room, the rest of the kids in the basement. He unwrapped the knife by carefully folding back one side of the towel laying it flat then taking the other side and doing the same. He would take up the sharpener in his left hand. Grab the knife in his right. In one motion he brought them together in front of his face. Slow and long strokes at first. frrrrring, frrrrring, frrrrring More brisk as he went. fring, fring, fring, fring He slid the steel into his pants pocket. Grabbed the towel and wiped down the knifes blade. He placed the knife on the table. The knife lay there while he would go into the kitchen. He turned to us and commanded. Dont touch the knife. He went into the kitchen. He asked my mom for the serving plate. I looked at the knife. It was a cold sharp blade imperfect from dad hacking open a coconut one summer. He carried the pink depression glass serving platter into the dining room and set it down next to the knife. He looked at me, gave a little smile and winked. I looked down knowing that the other boys caught his glance. He walked back into the kitchen. Turned on the sink and washed his hands. Hands still wet, he took up the turkey that had been resting on the cutting board on the counter. He walked back into the dining room carrying the bird at the height of his chest. She glistened, brown and buttery. He set her down next to the serving plate, left of his place setting. He patted the turkey and exclaimed Oh this is a good one boys! He looked around the table. He reached over, straightened a spoon in one setting, a fork in another. He reached into his pocket pulling out a box of matches. He struck one and lit the three candles in the center of the table. He turned down the overhead lights slightly. He took a deep breath, looked once more over the table. Boys, call everyone to the table. We started out of the room. His voice stopped us. And boys say please when you tell them. We ran off. Each to our regular places. I ran to the front room. The men all sat slumped in their various seats. No one talked. Their eyes glued to the TV set. Uncle Joe was already dozing off. He had come an hour before people were told to come. He usually did. He was my moms brother. He never married, didnt have kids. He would come early, drink beer, eat the neatly arranged appetizers making them not so neat by the time everyone else arrived. Dinner is ready, please come to the living room. Everyone except Joe perked up. Uncle George nudged Joe, Come on big guy, the food is ready. As we entered the room my dad stood at the head of the table, hands behind his back, smiling as everyone took their seats. My mom and grandma put the last dish and the bread basket on the table. Dad waited until everyone was settled and started to speak. Marie you have certainly outdone yourself tonight. Everything looks wonderful. Mom blushed. Everyone chimed in, yeah, everything looks great. Uncle Joe already had a roll on his plate, grabbing the next dish closest to him. My

dad said, Lets pray. Upon hearing those words, Joe sent down the green bean casserole. My father continued, food is important but family is priceless. Thank you for giving us another year of health, another year of family, another year of life. Bless us and this bounty. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen. Everyone said Amen. As soon as Amen was said, serving plates were seized, forks and spoons clicked and clacked as the food was arranged on plates. My dad continued to stand there. Hands behind his back looking from person to person smiling. The dishes made their way to the last person in the clockwise order, he asked Who wants turkey? My Uncle George laughed. I thought you would never ask. My dad looked at him smiled and winked. George continued, Come on Henry, lets get the show on the road. My father picked up the knife with his right hand, serving fork in his left and went into cut the turkey. The first cut crackled. The skin on the breast gave way to the sharp knife. With one long stroke pulling his arm and knife toward him a thin, a juicy piece of meat peeled off the bird. He asked his sister for her plate. With knife and fork he picked up the slice. Offering her plate, my father set the meat between the mash potatoes and seven-layer jello. Each person at the table passed their plate to my aunt. In turn, they called out their preferred cut: white, dark, little, thick, one, two. My father filled each order. Everyone marveled at the skill and dexterity of his cutting. There was no struggle, the pieces of turkey given to his family were exactly the ones they wanted. He finished serving the last plate, cut a piece for himself and sliced a more pieces for people that would want seconds. He put those on the serving platter. He lifted the cutting board from the table, turned, and walked into the kitchen. I could hear the door to the oven creak open and close. He washed his hands and came back to the table with the gravy boat. Cant forget this. Everyone looked up. Oh yeah the gravy. Dad sat down and looked at each of my brothers and finally me. He smiled and winked. The family ate. My father wasnt necessarily a man of routine. Sure on certain occasions he did things his way. He never passed on the opportunity to put on a show. So when he decided to try something new, some place different it was no surprise to anyone. He went to China by himself the month after high school. He stayed for two months traveling, sleeping in lavish Beijing hotels and country farmhouses. When he was 25, he quit his well paying bank job on Lasalle St. and changed careers he said he always wanted to learn how to fix cars. At 30, he started to have us Marie had finally given the ultimatum for regularity, children and staying put. He consented. Three boys and twelve years later his brilliance came in manicured lawns, homemade wine, three athletes, and of course an unparalleled ability to slice turkey. So one morning when he decided to take the train to work instead of driving the family car no one thought it to be that strange either. He hadnt taken the train in the years I was conscious of, but choosing to do so fit in with the character we new as our dad. I wont forget the security guard coming to the door of my classroom, calling my teacher into the hallway. She came back a moment later asking me to step out. There stood the security guard, the principal, a woman I had never seen before and my teacher. The principal had tears in her eyes. She stood off to the side. My teacher looked down at her shoes. The woman glared at me. What is it? I said. The security guard looked up at the unknown woman. She froze. What happened? The security guard stepped toward me and coarsely whispered Son, your father is dead.