An American classic played out around a turkey

Skype is a wonderful tool for communication that allows users to see each other face-to-face. It makes “video chat,” which up until a few short years ago was still stuck in the science fiction realm, a reality. It brings families and friends closer together than ever before. And, viewed through the eyes of a vigilant and all-seeing mother, it allows parents to see just what their kids have been up to while away at school.

Such was the case for my aunt this Thanksgiving. As my family gathered around a laptop to speak with my cousin who was away at school in St. Louis, she was seeing something we weren’t.

We asked for a tour of his room, told him he had lost weight and looked good, and discussed seeing him for Christmas.

All the while, my aunt was focused on something invisible to us.

“What’s that?” she asked, referring to a tiny spot on his chest.

My cousin, wearing a button-up shirt with a t-shirt underneath, probably thought he came into this Skype session prepared, but was now likely wishing he had gone with a turtleneck. The resolution on the webcam was not great, but I’d bet money I saw sweat beads gathered on his forehead.

“What’s what?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“That mark, under your shirt. Let me see,” she insisted.

After repeated denials, jokes that he didn’t feel comfortable showing everyone gathered around the table, my cousin gave in. He revealed a large tattoo, spread across his chest, depicting his flesh ripped off with a Spiderman costume underneath.

And with that, my deeply Catholic aunt and uncle were introduced to their son’s latest decoration. He has at least two smaller tattoos from before, and I knew of this new one before anyone else because I had talked with him about it a few days earlier. Knowing he’s loved Spiderman almost since birth, the tattoo was no surprise to me. Given that he is currently in seminary school training to become a priest makes it a bit more surprising, but I figure he is trying to get them while he still can before he takes his vows.

“Oh my God…” my aunt whispered, hand trembling over her mouth.

“When he comes back home, I’m gonna kick his butt,” my uncle declared.

And then what I believed to be a tryptophan-induced déjà vu occurred. I had been here before. Slowly, the memory swam through the layer of mashed potatoes and crust of turkey meat to the surface of my mind. It was this time last year, at my then-girlfriend’s sister’s house. Her family was having a discussion with her niece about getting a tattoo. Of course, this girl had the notion to bring it up before getting the work done, which led to a slightly different, but similar conversation.

Both involved claims that the tattooed would later regret their ink. The cost and pain of removal was brought up. The idea that the body is a temple and should not be marked in such a way was a theme in both. There were also appeals to the artistic quality and personal significance of tattoos.

And then I had a carb-loaded epiphany. I felt connected to the world, not only in the fact that so many others had consumed turkey that day, but that at that very moment, families were together who had been spread across great distances and had not seen each other in months or longer.

And they were talking about tattoos.

It’s inevitable that many students home from school took on new tattoos, piercings, or whatever else in their time away and were, at that exact time, explaining themselves to their parents. My family was just another scenario being played out hundreds of times across our country.

And then it got even deeper. Another one of my cousins, sister of the tattooed-priest-in-training, surprised us with the presence of her and her boyfriend. A few months ago, she had gone to live with him in Madison, Wis. He has, let’s just say, not been well-received by my family, and there were many of us, who, let’s say, questioned her decision.

Yet, here they enter, and again I ponder. Here is another all-American scene. The young, naïve girl who ran off with her love – in this case, a polite, but unkempt young man studying to be an audio engineer, but who is unable to drive due to a suspended license. They idealize their life together, which most of us find both foolish and annoying. I watched, eating a cannoli, as my uncle half-listened to the boy’s pie-in-the-sky dream of recording bands, and I swear I saw my uncle’s head steam as he considered a future with this boy as his son-in-law.

But I began to respect their story for what it is: a classic. Ever since (and probably well before) girls left with bearded boyfriends west to California to follow the Grateful Dead and partake in psychedelic awakenings, this scene has played out. Whether it’s Thanksgiving Day 2012, 1968, 1982, or 1882, there have been people bringing over their significant others for dinner with their extended families while most members of that family groan and sigh.

I wouldn’t be surprised if at the first Thanksgiving, Abigail brought her new boyfriend Jeremiah to dinner while her father disparagingly commented that he didn’t like the way he wore his hat. And there you have it – in this age of Skype video chats, some Thanksgiving traditions will never change.

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