Every Thanksgiving I always ask the question when we are done eating – “Why do I only make this food once a year?”  That particular menu ends up being reserved for the fourth Thursday of every November. Until this year I have left well enough alone.  

Most everyone I have asked has a family version of the side that goes with their turkey. Some stuff their bird and eat stuffing. My family eats dressin’. It is a cornbread and biscuit-based creation that involves turkey broth, and lots of buttermilk with some other ingredients and spices. Whatever it is for your family, I am sure you can track with me when I say it is THE thing that sets apart the Thanksgiving menu.  

My mother was the last person that had first-hand knowledge of how my grandmother made the dressin’. Since no written recipe for the concoction existed, I made sure to watch her very closely and write down what she did. Once I had my written recipe, I tried unsuccessfully for many years to repeat what Mother could do with no recipe at all. My failure drove me nuts, as I had written down exactly what she did. After many years of failed attempts and recipe tweaking, I finally landed on a recipe that worked repeatedly.   

We decided this year to go to Florida for vacation. I have family down there that I had not seen in a great long while. Since I can now successfully make the concoction that transports us all back to Big Mama’s kitchen, I offered to make it for my Florida family. So in July, we had Thanksgiving. It was really good.  

A couple of weeks after coming home, my father and stepmother came for a visit. I shared that I can now make dressin’. So, we also had Thanksgiving in August. I have asked myself if I really want to do it again in November. I probably will not. I was thinking, though, about the power of a memory. In my family, when dressin’ is mentioned our eyes glaze over and we start to drool. The name of the magical concoction is like the metronome for Pavlov’s dogs.   

I don’t think there is anything extra special about dressin’. It just reminds us of a place in time when things seemed good. It, somehow, became the gold standard for good eating. That likely had more to do with its rarity than it did the actual merit of the dish. I can’t speak for all of us, but eating dressin’ provides a momentary, tangible grasp on sweet, sweet memories of simpler times. The flavor sparks strong memories of my grandmother, who was dearly loved by everyone.  

It is cool how time-machine-like memories can be. Though there are experiences I wish I could forget, I am very happy that we were created with the ability to recall experiences in deep and meaningful ways.  I love the extravagant moment when one of my senses transports me to a special time in the past. For example, I feel blessed all over again when I feel cool air flow up from a floor vent in the summertime. There are other things equally powerful, like walking barefoot in thick, soft grass, the smell of pipe tobacco, the squeak of trampoline springs, or the metal squeal of a playground swing. All those things are loaded with wonderful memories.  

Our memories are important. They tie us together as families and remind us of our history. They serve as mile-markers and also as red flags.  Some are sweet and some can be feel like TNT with a short, lit fuse. We could all likely catalog without much effort a least a page of memories both good and bad. The danger comes when we refuse to acknowledge the duality of our life experiences. We tend to idealize the good and discount the bad.

I have spent years chasing a recipe that brings back good memories. There is nothing wrong with that. I would be remiss, however, if I did not give equal time to considering the parts of me that were wounded by the same people who sat with me at the table eating dressin’ year after year. When I really take the time to remember the whole experience, I realize those memories have a flip side. Thankfully, I have been able to work through a good number of the associated hurts.

Here is what I have been driving at: In reconciling and honoring our memories holistically, we stand to reap the most benefit from our life experiences. i.e. I don’t have to pretend my family of origin was anything other than a big hot mess to appreciate the good times. When I consider the good and bad of every person who was at the table and how to whole impacted my life, I have a far better foundation from which to launch.

Can you think of a great memory that has a dark flipside? Have you taken the time to work through the associated hurts? Healing brings freedom from the things we feel like we have to ignore or keep hidden.   How cool would it be if we could all approach the coming holiday season with fresh eyes? As we make new memories with the next generation, we could celebrate healing from wounds carried needlessly for years on end.

As fall creeps into retail stores, and we start longing for all the end-of-the-year trappings, let’s be mindful of the things we carry. Instead of idealizing the good and discounting the bad, let’s consider our experiences holistically and seek healing. I can’t think of a better gift we can give ourselves than fresh understanding and freedom from things that hurt us.