Every year at Thanksgiving my family gathers at my mom’s house – the house I grew up in – for a meal, dessert and lots of visiting. We don’t have a huge family, but usually a couple of aunts or uncles from my Dad’s side of the family, and an uncle and aunt from my Mom’s side of the family show up. Oh, and since my sister married into the family that lives next door, there is usually a free flow of guests from one domicile to the other, and the two feasts complement one another. My mother serves about 14 guests around her table.

After we have enjoyed a very tasty meal, and are well into an afternoon of discussions, news tidbits, arguments and games, the conversation turns – as it always does – to “The Family Legend”.

“The Family Legend” is rooted in our genealogy and ancestry. Supposedly, we are related to a famous explorer from the Southwest portion of the United States. (And, yes, this is traceable.) And so, the legend goes, our family was given a large land grant from an early governor of the area. But alas – it was lost. And somehow the connections and the paper trail were lost. And our family lost out on a sizable and very valuable piece of real estate. “But it is ours! rightfully ours!” we affirm. If only we could prove it – “sigh”.

So, year by year, the legend is discussed: hammering at the known facts from different angles, putting forth different possibilities of reclaiming our land and ultimately lamenting the loss that will never enrich our family. In my own lifetime, it has been discussed for the last 50 years; it is one of our favorite after-Thanksgiving-dinner topics.

This year the discussion was enlivened by “new” information. We found out that we trace our genealogy – not through the famous explorer – but through his brother: same family, but we cannot claim that we are direct descendants of the explorer himself. (Evidently, he was busy exploring and had neither family or children.) So our family tradition faithfully embraces the family legend. And our eyes glow for a few moments as we think of the land that might have been ours. Then someone calls out that it’s time for dessert: we shake off the cobwebs of our dusty musings, postpone the continuing conversation until next year, then thoroughly enjoy a large piece of pumpkin pie with lots of whipped cream!