8-Minute Gravy write-up

Over the river and through the woods....to a random church in Layton, Utah... where we will be celebrating Thanksgiving with obscure Henderson relatives. I know. How pathetic is that (notice there is no question mark at the end of this sentence; it's clearly a statement.). I mean, Isn't it an unofficial law that Thanksgiving be spent at a place that you love with people that are dear to you? But it's okay. Because Dad has informed us that these uncles and aunts we've never met are sure to be entertaining. So we kids stop slouching and mumbling, and try to nonchalantly say that maybe this won't be absolutely terrible. Well we enter the cultural hall and see our man: easily seven feet tall, donning green dress apparel from head to toe, and wearing a huge duck whistle around his neck. This man gets the attention of his children by blowing this ridiculous object, and the kids quickly perk up in response. And would you believe it? They, too, are Junior Explorers also sporting miniature whistles. His two gangly daughters proudly scamper to their father--making a point to puff up their chests to show off their strange instruments. My siblings and I just stared. This was bizarre. My goodness. We had never viewed anything so foreign. We simply exchanged occasional glances among each other, silently reflecting over how grateful we were that our parents let us be athletes and ballerinas instead of Junior Explorers.