My family does not have a particular Thanksgiving tradition. It used to be that every year after I had celebrated with my mom, I would go to my dad’s house and we would make apple pie. Some time through the years that little tradition with my dad faded out.

Last Thanksgiving, I was dragged by my mother to her friend’s house to share some appetizers before I had to go to my dad’s house to celebrate. I didn’t want to eat with the rest of the folks because I was saving all the room I could to go dine out at Outback. After some dull conversation between me and a middle-aged woman died out, I was finally able to go with my dad who had just arrived home from work.

Since my dad was exhausted from work, he decided to take a quick nap before dinner. Given that was the case and I had just received my license, I went to my friend’s house to essentially kill time by watching them eat and share some laughs with my friends and their parents who shared the same vulgar humor as their teenage son.

Still excited about my meal, I finally arrived home, my stomach growling in anticipation of the delicious and savory food yet to come. I pulled into the driveway and rushed to the house ready to go. I searched my house to find my grandmother, who was also quite hungry and ready to go. I shouted for my dad and finally, we were all packed in my grandmother’s car.

We drove to Outback to find it closed an hour before our arrival. We drove around the entirety of the desert looking for our Thanksgiving meal. Ultimately we reached our destination: McDonald’s, concluding my Thanksgiving 2016 feast with a sundae and a large fries.