They always gave him the turkey leg to eat. Not a whole one, mind you, but one that had been cut till it looked like someone's chewed-on leftover. They called it a "drumstick"...and they always gave him some of that God-awful, red-purple cranberry stuff too."Don't forget to give Jerrey the drumstick," one of the women would say.Like it was a big deal to get the darn thing. He had never asked for the dumb drum-turkey-stick in the first place. They had just always given it to him. Ever since he was a little boy, they had given him the darn-dumb-turkey-drumstick or whatever you called it. He knew there were other parts to a turkey ("duh"), but darned if he knew what they tasted like. If they tasted like what they gave him to eat, they could keep the whole darned bird, as far as he was concerned, 'cause he really didn't like turkey anyway.He could never figure out why, every Thanksgiving, they had to have turkey in the first place. Why not some Southern Fried Chicken or baked ham? He'd settle for some "Buffalo wings" or ribs.The first three days in the winter festival season fall during Thanksgiving. A national holiday in the United States, and elsewhere around the world, it is a time to remember all the blessings given to each of us in the midst of our life's many daily challenges. All too often our concentration is focused on the immediate need to solve the current crisis and, as such, all too often we miss the blessing giver...ever present.In this southern novel, set in and around Atlanta, Georgia, five families in, "The Congregation," are highlighted as their lives intertwine and are affected by a mysterious newcomer. Some see, and some don't. Those who do have taken time to count.
