Andy's Antics - Thanksgiving

It was two days before the fall break. Ms. Jacobs dismissed her art class, but before Andy reached the door, she stopped him. “Andy, just a moment, please.” He was such a good kid, a pleasant student who loved to joke around, and she genuinely enjoyed having him in class. She was concerned because he’d seemed to be sad about something most of the class hour.

The teen, usually full of smiles, had his head down, but he turned to look at her when she spoke.

“Andy, is something wrong?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“It’s stupid,” he answered.

“Hmm. Well, I have a few minutes. Share if you want to.”

“It’s just.” He stopped. Then he started again. “It’s just that it’s almost Thanksgiving. My mom usually makes these really awesome pumpkin cookies. But this year she seems super busy. I don’t even know if she’ll have time, so it just won’t really feel like Thanksgiving, you know? And everyone is talking about how great Thanksgiving is going to be.”

Ms. Jacobs was surprised. Andy didn’t strike her as the type who would be worried much about traditions or particular cookies. He seemed unbothered and carefree most of the time. “Oh,” she said. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps there will still be pumpkin pie?”

“Not the same, but yeah, I suppose.” He still sounded disappointed.

“Okay, well, I’ll write you a pass for your next class, so you won’t be counted tardy after talking with me. Try to enjoy the rest of your day.” She smiled kindly at him. After he left, Ms. Jacobs, being the tenderhearted person she was, decided that she would make the cookies after school. It wouldn’t be difficult to pick up a few ingredients on the way home.

Andy repeated the process with his other two favorite teachers, with the hope that they would pity him and take action. This year, his mom had wanted him to give the cookie recipe a try himself, but that didn’t sound very fun. This method was far easier. Keeping the sad face was the only difficult part.

The very next day, three teachers gave homemade pumpkin cookies to Andy, which he received with unfeigned gratitude. There was no need to deceive this time. His absolute joy was absolutely real! The teachers felt their hearts swell with the satisfaction of giving a beloved student the Thanksgiving he so badly wanted. They didn’t even mind when they learned that all three of them had done it - they merely laughed and said, “Well, he’ll have plenty!” Of course, Andy’s friends questioned what was going on, but he only gave them the same story that he’d given the teachers. It was far too risky to confide with his buddies. They all liked the teachers. If he told them, they just might tell the truth, and that would very likely result in the teachers snatching the cookies from Andy and giving them to the truthful students.

The next day was Wednesday, the first day of the break. Andy’s mother, Rene, said, “So, I bought everything you need to make the cookies. The recipe card is on the counter. I’m only working a half day today. Please use the kitchen while I’m gone, because I want to do some prep for tomorrow when I get back.”

Andy almost said, “Sure, Mom!” but he was afraid that might seem a bit suspicious, since only a few days before he’d protested the idea of making them himself. Instead, he said, “Do I really have to? You make them the best.”


Rene smiled and said, “Nice try, but no. It’s time you make them yourself.” Then she left.

Andy started whistling “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” as he went to the kitchen where he sprinkled some flour and sugar on the counter. He needed to leave just a bit of a mess. He didn’t bother taking mixing bowls out; it’d be much easier to just say he’d already washed them. He went to his room, still whistling, and took the cookies out his backpack. He placed the bags of cookies on the counter, took two cookies, resealed the plastic bag, and returned to his room to play videogames. His job was done, and all was well with his world.

Later that day, his mother returned. She slipped off her shoes and glanced around the kitchen. "Andy!" she called.

“Coming!”

Moments later, he stood with his mother in the kitchen. “Hey, Mom!”

“Finish the cookies?” she asked.

“Yep. They’re right there.” He pointed proudly.

“Huh,” she said. “You baked those and put them in bags?”

“Yeah. Didn’t want them to dry out, you know.”

“Hmm.” She looked at her son. “That’s kinda strange.”

“Umm, why? Wasn’t that what I was supposed to do?” he asked. The kid truly had no idea what his mother meant.

“Oh, yes. That is correct. What I can’t quite figure out is how you put them in bags.” She paused for effect before continuing. When she did, she spoke slowly and firmly, her voice rising with each word, “When. We. Were. Out. Of. Bags!”

Andy felt a fear that only his mother could instill. Sometimes he could keep a grin despite the danger, but not at this moment.

“I, um…”

“Did the neighbors give you bags?”

“Umm…”

“Andy!”

Andy stared back. “What?”

“Andy, who baked those cookies?” his mother demanded. She walked to the counter and looked at the cookies. They’re not even all the same! Some are frosted and some aren’t! You had somebody or more than one somebody bake these cookies for you! Who?”

Very quietly, Andy answered. “Ms. Jacobs, Mr. Walker, and Ms. Hanson.”

Rene gasped. “Your teachers? What on earth did you tell them? That your mother was ill and she didn’t have the strength? That your parents simply couldn’t provide cookies? Tell me what you said!” She knew her son very well, and she knew that both of her ideas were very plausible.

“No! No! I just said you were busy.”

“Busy! Really? Andy, your teachers are busy! And you made them feel so sorry for you that they baked cookies for you!”

“Umm, they’re really good cookies, Mom. Try one!” He was desperate to get out of trouble.

His mother glared at him. Then she grabbed a cookie and took a bite. “Delicious,” she admitted, still glaring at Andy.

“Well, see? Everything is fine then! I’ll share them with you.” He grabbed a cookie. “Look at us. Eating cookies together. Everything is fine. Just fine. Spiffy even. We are two spiffy people on a spiffy day!”

She took another bite of the cookie and chewed it deliberately, watching her son the whole time. She finished the bite and then, still holding the rest of the cookie and using it to point at him, she said, “Here’s what is going to happen. Tomorrow night you are going to bake the cookies that you were supposed to bake. And then you are going to put them in the freezer. And then on Monday, you, dear son, are going to give those three teachers the cookies that you baked. And you are going to write letters of apology. Do you understand?”

Andy put his head back and looked at the ceiling for a full four seconds. Then he sighed. Finally, he looked at his mother and said, “Okay.”

“Great. Then you’re right. Everything is fine. Even spiffy. Now get out of this kitchen so I can do the prep that I need to do.”

Andy started to leave. After a few steps, he turned back and said (sweetly), “By the way, those cookies aren’t as good as yours.”

She shook her head. “Flattery isn’t going to change anything, Andy, so don’t even try. And besides, that was a darn good cookie. I might have to ask for the recipe. Now, shoo! Go write those letters!”