Thanksgiving at Mother Washington’s house

What’s the difference between heaven and hell?

We would all be at Mother Washington’s house for Thanksgiving dinner even if she wasn’t the only one with a real dining room. She may be an African American woman in a white man’s world, a senior citizen in a nation that worships youth, short and round in a city that is fitness-crazed, and poorly educated in a land that reveres degrees. But she is also a spiritual leader in her church and the heart, soul and conscience of my neighborhood and maybe everybody who know her. She has taught me that wisdom is blind to color, age, appearance and education.

Anyhow, on Thanksgiving afternoon we were all gathered around her table: Cindy and her father Ray, my neighbors Sarge, Quaker, and Virgil, and me. Monte helped his grandmother carry platters of food to the table until there was barely room for our plates. The house was bursting with quiet but friendly conversation, and the warm aromas of turkey, gravy, and the sweet potato pies still in the oven.

When Mother Washington stood behind her chair, everyone stopped talking and bowed their heads. We all knew the drill. She would bless us and the table, maybe say a few extra words of inspiration, then ask me to carve the giant browned bird. We didn’t expect what came after we said amen.

“I want to tell you a little story this year,” she said, her round face covered with a smile of grace. “Y’all can wait a minute before you start eating.”

“I can’t,” Monte said under his breath, then jumped when Cindy kicked him under the table.

She went on as if she had not heard him. “A holy man was having a conversation with the Lord one day and he said, ‘Lord, I heard a lot about Heaven and Hell, and I’d like to know what they’s really like.’ So The Good Lord showed the man two doors. He opened one up, and the man thought it looked kind of like Thanksgiving in there. In the middle of the room was a big old table and in the middle of the table there was everything you could want. Turkey. Stuffing. Yams. Corn. Mashed potatoes. A real feast. It looked and smelled so good it made the holy man’s mouth water.

Now there was people sitting around the table, all moaning and groaning and looking like they was starving. Do you know why?”

“They couldn’t reach the food,” Monte said, trying to keep things moving along.

“Oh no,” Mother Washington said, waving a finger at him. “They could reach the food because they had these great long knives and forks attached to their arms. Sort of like these.” She picked up a knife and fork designed for use on a barbecue grill and sliced off a bit of the hot, juicy turkey breast. “They was even longer than this. They could reach everything.”

“Then why weren’t they eating?” Monte asked.

Mother Washington smiled and handed the fork to Monte, putting the end of the handle into his hand. “Well, the forks was so long that after they got some food on them, they couldn’t get them back to they mouths.”

Monte tried unsuccessfully to get the turkey into his mouth. Sarge chuckled. “I take it this was hell.”

“That was hell,” Mother Washington said, nodding her graying head solemnly. “So then the Lord took the man to the next room and opened the door. And do you know what he saw? Well, it was exactly the same. Same big old table covered with delicious food. It got the holy man’s mouth watering all over again. There was just as many people sitting around the table, just like you are, and they had the same forks and knives with the long handles. Except…”

Mother Washington has a gift for the dramatic pause. She knew she had us so she held us for a couple of seconds. When she spoke she shared the big, broad smile we’re all used to.

“Except these people was all fat and happy. They was well fed, all laughing and talking and having a good time. So the holy man asked, ‘Lord, what’s different about this room?’ And do you know what he said? Do you know why these folks was fed while the people in hell was starving?”

And she stopped right there. Everybody around the table was staring at each other, except Mother Washington who was staring at me. Well, I guess I am supposed to be the detective. She knew when it hit me because it made me grin. I checked the faces around the table to make sure no one else wanted to speak before I did.

“It’s not the room that was different,” I said. “It’s the people.” I took the fork from Monte and held the turkey slice to his mouth. “The folks in the second room figured out they would all be okay if they’d feed each other.”

“That’s right,” Mother Washington said, making me feel like the teacher’s pet. “The folks in hell were starving because the greedy think only of themselves."

Mother Washington sat down, and the gang started passing the bowls and platters around while when I stood up to carve the bird. And even though he was already chewing, I think even Monte got the lesson this year.