That Unforgettable Thanksgiving

They were the only couple I knew in our school who were poorer than we were.

Like us, they had to stay behind on the Thanksgiving break while almost everyone else in the ward and area drove or flew home to be with family for the holiday. And visiting with him one Sunday I got the impression that they could not afford to have a Thanksgiving meal.

As for us, we had been married for one year and five days, and our infant daughter was just eight days old. To make it work, I went to school fulltime, had two 20-hour a week jobs, and we managed an apartment complex of men's housing in exchange for free housing.

On Thanksgiving morning (like almost all of my Thanksgiving mornings) I played football with friends. When I got back, my good bride gave me a tour of our meal in progress, showing me what she'd done so far. Then she gave me my assignments.

I couldn't help but notice that my assigned tasks were mostly far from our food — and rightly so. The night before I was allowed to peel potatoes and "make the milk" (we had powdered milk in those days), but on Thanksgiving day my assigned jobs were to tend to our daughter, and to continually do dishes (we didn't have a dishwasher) so that my wife could keep cooking with our minimal kitchenware.

She was especially excited about her first-ever pie that she'd made on her own from scratch.

As we worked that afternoon toward our shared goal, somehow the conversation turned to this other couple. At first we talked about the viability of inviting them over to eat with us, but we just didn't have enough food for four people. Our "turkey", for example, was actually a Cornish game hen.

We didn't care about having small portions ourselves, we were just worried that our guests would be excited to come have a Thanksgiving meal, then disappointed by it.

I can't remember now who suggested it, but we ended up deciding to anonymously gift our Thanksgiving meal to our less fortunate friends.

I do remember, though, that it was me who suggested that we keep the pie for ourselves. It's not that I coveted it — I don't really like sugary things — I just knew how much that pie meant to her. I wanted her to at least taste it, and I wanted to tell her how great it was.

As young couples know, once you have a baby you can't just get into the car and go somewhere anymore. I started warming up the car and scraping the ice off the windows (the field I played football in that morning was walking distance), then I bundled up the baby and got her into her car seat.

Meanwhile, my wife carefully wrapped up her beautiful meal in aluminum foil and containers she was okay with never getting back, and placed it all into a sturdy cardboard box.

My wife drove to this couple's apartment building while I rode shotgun with the food box on my lap, making sure nothing spilled or tipped along the way.

We felt strangely MISCHIEVIOUS as she pulled up to the building.

I walked up the three flights of stairs with the food, walked down the long hallway to their apartment door, and set the box in front of it. That's when I realized for the first time that our plan had a major flaw.

Their apartment was dead center in the building — which meant that when I knocked on their door, I had a long run from their apartment door back to either of the stairwells. Odds were that they would open that door while I was still running down the hall and they would see me trying to get away.

I couldn't turn back now, though, so I psyched myself up for the challenge. I pounded very hard on their door three times, then shot off like a rocket for the stairs.

I was almost to the stairs when I heard the door open.

Without thinking, I leaped.

As I flew over the steel encased concrete stairs, I wondered if they were watching me from behind.

I didn't quite clear the stairs, though. One foot caught on the edge of the last step, and I severely sprained my ankle and fell in a heap on the landing.

In racking pain I hopped down the remaining two flights of stairs, then hopped out to the waiting getaway car and dove in. "Go! Go!" I yelled.

She took off before I was fully in the car! As I pulled myself in and shut the door, I moaned, "Wow. I really hurt my ankle."

I told her the story as we drove home. We were laughing at ourselves as I hopped up the stairs to our apartment, but as we got to our door, we heard the phone start to ring (landline days).

I was first through the door and answered the phone. It was the couple whose apartment we'd just left.

I whispered to my wife, "It's them!"

"They saw you!" she whispered back. "They know!"

I put my finger to my lips and gave her the international gestures for "Sh!".

"Tom," said the voice on the phone. "I'm calling about a box we just had dropped off at our door."

Rats. He did see me. I guess I didn't have to destroy my ankle after all.

My friend continued, "Inside the box is a whole Thanksgiving dinner. The meal is obviously meant for two people, but we were thought if we kept our portions small, we could share it with the two of you."

I was stunned.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "It doesn't sound like there is a lot of food there, and we would hate to take a meal that was made for you two."

"Oh, don't worry about that!" he said cheerfully. "Besides, you guys are the only couple we know that is poorer than us!"

I made eye contact with my wife as she unbundled our daughter to make sure she was listening to what I was about to say.

"That is so nice of you," I replied. "Yes, we would love to go to your place and have Thanksgiving dinner with you. We'll be right over."

My wife laughed with disbelief as I hung up the phone.

"I'll bring the baby to the car," she said. "You grab the pie."