Thanksgiving on the campus of a private boarding school is a wholly unique experience. A recent trip to Phillips Academy in Andover reminded me of how different the break is for faculty than it is for students.
For students, exams are over before the start of the preceding weekend. It is a long enough break—a 12-day span—for even those who live on the other side of the country to fly home and enjoy some family time. After the students depart, faculty still have exams and papers to grade, comments to write, and grades to post before they can begin a very short respite that ends after just five days.
Five days, to those in other fields of employment, might seem like a luxury. But, the private school teacher often works 14-hour days. The hours add up by the time one accounts for class prep, classroom teaching, coaching, dorm advising, tutoring, grading, parent communications, disciplinary actions, committee meetings, and other attendant duties that might be needed in the dining hall or at extracurricular student activities. A private school teacher, as in loco parentis, might be awakened in the middle of the night by noise in the dorm she is living in—one’s advisees are teenagers, after all.
With students gone for the break, however, faculty embrace a more normal schedule and routine while completing their end-of-term paperwork. The flurry to grade and write and post in time to meet administrative deadlines finally ends by mid-afternoon on the day before Thanksgiving.
My husband and I used to get in the car and drive a couple hours to spend two nights with his relatives for the holiday, but once his family moved away from New England, making any kind of a trip didn’t make much sense for such a short period of time. A couple of our faculty family friends were in a similar situation, which led us to all bind together and create a unique family of our own for the celebration.
As children were added to the mix over the years, our Thanksgiving Day get-togethers grew, just as they might in a traditional family setting. We took turns hosting—the host always made the turkey—and everyone brought a dish to pass. It was during this time that I began making a Silver Palate carrot and sweet potato puree, which we all dubbed Beta Carotene, and is a favorite to this day.
One Thanksgiving, when we were the hosts, it was decided that we would have a children’s table separate from the grown-ups. By this time, and within viewing distance, the kids were all old enough to be trusted to manage their table manners without too much intervention. Having a children’s table meant that the table for the grown-ups could be set a bit more formally than in the past. I consulted a guide to creating beautiful table arrangements and bought a few decorative items to enhance the design. Among my purchases were a number of candles.
Our fellow faculty members and their children began to arrive shortly before 2:00 just as I was putting the finishing touches on the table setting. Of course there were many offers to help, but, except for lighting the candles, everything was in wait for the turkey to come out of the oven.
The children immediately got out the board games and settled in to play before dinner was served. Wine was poured and toasts were offered among the adults. The aroma of pies, vegetables of all sorts, and the resting turkey filled the air as our family of friends got cozy and talked about reaching the finish line of the fall term. Amusing stories relating the ubiquitous antics of prep school students were a form of one-upmanship among the teachers, and we laughed together over the more absurd.
English by birth, Ian could always be counted on to relate his stories with clever puns and double entendres as he held court between the dining area and the living room. I chuckled, too, as I struck the match to begin lighting the candles on my beautifully set table. The smell of the sulphur from the match head filled the air. As a hyper-aware science teacher, Ian glanced over his left shoulder to check the origins of the odor. Two candles had already been lit, and I bent down to bring the flame to the wick of the third. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ian put down his drink and in two strides come to my side. He clapped my hair with both hands as a more acrid smell filled my nostrils.
I stared at him in total perplexity not knowing what in the world had possessed him to dash over and clap my hair. “You were on fire,” he calmly said. A quick look in the mirror confirmed that, indeed, my hair was slightly singed. Apparently, while leaning down to light a candle, the ends of my shoulder length hair had touched one of the already glowing flames. Ian’s experience in science labs over the years had given him the instincts required to act quickly. Thank goodness.
On that Thanksgiving, as we went around the table declaring what we were thankful for, my tribute was to Ian. “I am thankful that Ian was near enough to see that I had just inadvertently lit my hair on fire, and savvy enough to put out the flames.” We all raised our glasses as Ian gave his familial response to my tribute, “You’ve always flamed to please.”
Copyright DJ Anderson, 2021
