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"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." Maya Angelou
Every year my family gets together. We gather around the Thanksgiving table tell stories and feast. Some of us tell the same stories every year, and the feast—well—the feast is a little different at my house. We have calaloo, rice and peas, ginger beer, carrot juice, and mauby. We have Turkey too, but we also have curry goat, oxtail, and mac-n-cheese. I tell you there is magic happening in that kitchen, and I love filling my belly with it. After dinner, we play this card game called Phase 10. We clear the table, the cards come out, and the gloves come off; but it’s all love. We laugh and we joke, we laugh until tears are coming down our faces. It’s straight foolishness every year. Growing up, I know I took advantage of this. Doing the same thing over and over every year with the same people. I don’t think I realized what we were building was a tradition and that one day things would change.
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