The True Meaning of K-Day – Ben Burgis
Her son’s voice quaked on the other end of the phone as he told Sarah about his art school senior thesis, straining under the weight of a level of self-righteous indignation that only a newly politically aware college kid could sustain. “I want to force people to really think about that whole juxtaposition, with what was going on back in the 50’s. All those crew-cut office workers parked at the drive-in’s in Levittown watching cheesy sauerkraut westerns with their racially pure blond housewives and 1.5 children, while Jews and Communists and so-called ‘degenerate’ artists were being forced to dig their own graves 50 miles up-state. I mean, even in the 80’s, long after the German troops left, there were still…”
Sarah sighed and put down her little black cell phone. She’d heard enough of her son’s long-winded white guilt sermons about the 1950’s and how We Are All Responsible to know exactly where this was going. She was on her first cup of coffee that morning, and she generally needed at least three to cope with hearing the “human skin turned into lampshades” part of his rant.
Sarah closed her eyes, picked up the phone and tried to slip a cheerful, supportive tone into her voice before interrupting her son. “That sounds really interesting, Will. Maybe I can actually see it this weekend.”
“I don’t know, mom. Maybe I should just stay in New York this year. I’ve got a lot to…”
“No. Absolutely not. I already bought your monorail ticket, this is the first year since the divorce that we’re all having K-Day together as a family, and it’s your brother’s first time to break the star. You are not missing it.”
Will sighed theatrically into the phone. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”
She did, though. Sarah worried all week and she kept on worrying as she drove the hour and half from East Lansing to the Monorail station in Detroit that Friday. She didn’t stop worrying until she actually saw the sleek silver train slide into the station, and her son climbed down onto the filthy platform to meet her. They’d argued for so long about whether he was even coming home for K-Day Break this year. He’d been spewing all that politically correct garbage he’d soaked up in college, what a horrible thing K-Day was and how he didn’t want to participate, and this year he really seemed to mean it.
After a frantic week of mixing cranberry sauce, getting the pies–pumpkin and pecan this year–ready to go into the oven, and buying the pork and the hat and everything, not to even mention stopping Joey Jr. from trying to ride the dog, forcing herself to be civil to that blond bitch Joey Sr. had married after the divorce, and, well…
…after everything, the last thing Sarah needed was for Will to refuse to even show up. Like she told him during the ride back to East Lansing, Sarah didn’t believe this was about the poor oppressed Yids anyway. (“Jewish Americans,” Will corrected her between clenched teeth.) Will must know that K-Day wasn’t really about that anymore. She’d explained it to him so many times. The history was just that, history. K-Day was about family. It was an excuse to stuff your face and watch football. What on earth was wrong with that?
Sarah knew perfectly well that the real reason was that Will hadn’t wanted to come home for K-Day–
(“Kristallnachtia,” he muttered, but that was just stupid, seeing as how they’d changed the name when her son was all of four years old.)
–was because he didn’t want to see his father. It was obvious.
Will rolled his eyes in the backseat–the strap was broken, so no one sat in the front passenger seat anymore– but she knew that she was right.
“Look, believe me, I understand.” Sarah kept one hand on the steering wheel, clutching her travel mug of black coffee in the other as she tried to make eye contact with Will in the rear view mirror. “But what happened between us has nothing to do with you. Your father loves you just as much as I do, and I want you two to bury the hatchet.”
Will stopped arguing for a while, and Sarah let herself hope that some of this was sinking in, but when they got home, Will barely shook Joey Sr.’s hand before stalking off to his room to work on his art project. He’d given the golden retriever, Lizzy, a warmer greeting than he had his own father.
When everyone else was gone–even little miss bimbo, who’d offered to put Joey Jr. to bed–Sarah and Joey Sr. sat by the fireplace and drank port.
Sarah sighed in contentment and sipped at her glass. Things had been so nasty after the divorce, it taken years for her and Joey to get to the point where they could enjoy a companionable moment like this, as friends. She almost hated to ruin it by bringing up Will, but she knew that she had to. “You really should talk to him.”
Joey squirmed on the couch, dislodging Lizzy’s head from his leg. “I don’t know. All he wants to talk about these days is all that communist shit from arts school. If it had been up to me…”
Sarah sighed. “…he’d be going to Michigan State. It was good enough for us; it should be good enough for him. We’ve talked about this, but seeing as how he’s going to graduate in seven months, I think it’s kind of moot.”
“OK, OK.” Joey smiled and leaned over to pet Lizzy, who’d once again positioned her head on his leg. “I’ll see if I can talk to him tomorrow afternoon before dinner.”
And he did, for a long while, but Sarah was guessing it hadn’t gone well, judging by what Will told her when she saw him next. He’d wandered downstairs to pour himself a cup of coffee just before the pig came out of the oven. “Hey, I’m really not hungry right now, and I’m almost finished with the rough draft of my project. I might just stay in my room and work until it’s time for dessert.”
Sarah swiveled around to face him, hoping the look in her eyes would inspire terror. Or, failing that, at least pity. “William Sanders O’Connor, you will do no such thing. This is your younger brother’s first year with the star, and you are not skipping it.”
Will sipped his coffee like he always did when he was stalling for time, and she continued. “Come on, honey. Was your talk with your father really that bad?”
“For God’s sake, mom. It’s not about that. Seriously.”
“You’re eating dinner,” she told him, and that was that.
And, thank God, it was. Will even put his hand on his father’s shoulder before they all sat down to eat. Sarah could hardly contain her relief as she ran around setting all the traditional dishes on the table. The pies. The stuffing. The roasted pig with the broad-rimmed black hat, the cranberry-sauce “side-curls” and the candy Star of David in its mouth.
By tradition, the youngest member of the family took care of the star, but this was the first year that Joey Jr. was old enough to do it himself. Joey Sr. said grace, Will handed Joey Jr. the wooden pestle and the big moment came at last. Sarah suppressed tears at the memory of the first time Will had done this, how proud he’d been, as she watched Joey Jr. lean over the table and systematically mash up the star until Joey Sr., laughing, took the pestle back. Then everyone took turns giving him hugs, and they all sat down. Telling jokes and stories, eating far more than they should, they had the meal as a family.
And, really, wasn’t that what K-Day was all about?
[...] just in case you’re looking for some more holiday fun, here’s an excellent story by Ben Burgis that just got published over at Diet Soap. [...]