Date: November 22, 1990 (Thursday).
Location: The Cooper Residence (Highland Park).
Event: Thanksgiving and the 19th Candle.
Part 1: The Grocery Store Interception
In Texas, November is not just a month on the calendar. It is a season of extreme tension. The regular season of high school football is drawing to a violent close, the playoff brackets are being written in ink, and the weather finally turns cold enough to see your breath on the practice field.
But before the playoffs begin, there is Thanksgiving.
In the Cooper household, Thanksgiving was not a holiday. It was a military operation commanded by Mary Cooper.
The Tuesday before the holiday, Mary was at the local high-end grocery store, pushing a shopping cart that was already overflowing with sweet potatoes, marshmallows, green beans, and three different types of butter. I was walking behind her, acting as the designated pack mule, carrying a twenty-pound frozen turkey in each arm.
As we turned down the baking aisle, Mary suddenly stopped.
Standing a few feet away, looking at a display of discounted canned cranberries, was Vera Allen. Larry's mother.
Vera had a small hand basket. Inside it was a single box of instant mashed potatoes, a small package of generic turkey slices, and a loaf of bread. She was doing the mental math, counting the crumpled dollar bills in her hand. The Boosters paid the rent on Booster Row, but they didn't pay for holiday feasts.
My mother, possessing a radar for anyone in need of a hot meal and a heavy dose of Christian charity, immediately abandoned her shopping cart.
"Vera!" Mary called out, her voice loud and overwhelmingly cheerful.
Vera looked up, startled, quickly shoving the dollar bills into her coat pocket. "Oh. Hello, Mrs. Cooper. Georgie."
"Please, call me Mary," my mom said, marching right up to her. Mary looked at the meager contents of Vera's basket. She didn't judge, and she didn't show pity. She just immediately shifted into matriarch mode. "Vera, what are your plans for Thursday? Are you and Larry heading back to California to see family?"
"No," Vera smiled, though it didn't quite reach her tired eyes. "Flights are too expensive. And Larry has practice on Friday morning anyway. We're just going to have a quiet day at the apartment. Just the two of us."
Mary Cooper narrowed her eyes. To her, eating instant potatoes on Thanksgiving was a literal sin against the Lord and the state of Texas.
"Absolutely not," Mary declared. "You and Larry are coming to our house. I will not hear a single word of argument. The Boosters gave us that giant kitchen with the double ovens, and I am going to use them. I am cooking two turkeys. There is more than enough room."
"Mary, I couldn't impose," Vera started, looking embarrassed. "Larry eats a lot. A whole lot."
"I have three children and a husband who coaches football," Mary countered smoothly, grabbing Vera's arm. "I am used to feeding an army. And honestly, Vera, I need another mother in that massive house to help me keep the men in line. Please. We would love to have you."
Vera looked at my mother's genuine, stubborn face. She looked at me, struggling under the weight of forty pounds of frozen poultry. Slowly, Vera smiled.
"Okay, Mary," Vera said softly. "Thank you."
"Wonderful," Mary beamed. "Now, I happen to know that Mr. Thomas and the Smiths are also stuck in town for the holiday. I'm going to call them the minute I get home. We're going to fill up that giant dining room."
I adjusted the turkeys in my arms and sighed. My mother had just invited the entire starting offensive and defensive line to our house. Good thing the Boosters had given us a mansion.
Part 2: The Invasion
Thanksgiving Day arrived with a crisp, clear chill.
By one o'clock in the afternoon, the Cooper house was vibrating. The sheer mass of humanity packed into our Highland Park home was defying the laws of physics.
The house the Boosters had provided us at the start of the summer was massive. It had vaulted ceilings, a sprawling open-concept living room, and a backyard the size of a public park. But even with all that space, putting three teenage football players and their families inside made it feel incredibly small.
Larry Allen had to physically duck his head to walk through the grand front entryway. When he sat on the custom leather sectional sofa, the expensive wooden frame let out a loud, terrifying groan that made George Sr. wince. Zach Thomas was currently in the sprawling backyard throwing a football with Missy, who was aggressively trying to tackle him into the expensive landscaping. Jimmy Smith and his parents were sitting at the massive granite kitchen island, politely drinking sweet tea.
Meemaw was working the room like a casino pit boss. She had already taken twenty dollars from Zach's father in a friendly wager over the Dallas Cowboys game playing on the massive big-screen television.
The doorbell rang.
I opened it to find Serena and Eric van der Woodsen standing on the porch.
Serena was wearing a stunning, understated autumn dress and a long wool coat. She was holding a massive, covered glass casserole dish.
Eric was wearing a cashmere sweater, carrying a sleek imported cooler in one hand, and a large, brightly colored cardboard box under his other arm.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Georgie," Serena smiled, stepping inside and kissing my cheek. The cold air clung to her hair. "I brought my family's famous truffle macaroni and cheese. Our private chef spent three hours shaving the truffles this morning. Please don't tell your mother. Tell her I made it from scratch."
"Your secret is safe with me," I laughed, taking the heavy glass dish.
Eric walked past us, zeroing in on George Sr., who was pacing near the refrigerator looking stressed. The house was loud and chaotic. It was a prime scenario for a high blood pressure event.
Eric opened his sleek cooler. Inside were six bottles of a very specific, imported German beer.
"Coach," Eric said smoothly, sliding a cold bottle into my father's hand. "Happy Thanksgiving. I had my associate import this from Munich. Zero percent alcohol, but it is crafted with a proprietary hop blend that completely mimics the flavor profile of a dark stout. It will not interfere with your dietary restrictions."
George Sr. popped the cap off and took a long drink. His eyes widened slightly.
"I'll be damned," George muttered. "It actually tastes like beer. Thanks, Eric."
With his managerial duties complete, Eric turned around. He looked at the large cardboard box under his arm. Suddenly, the sophisticated, miniature adult persona melted away completely. His eyes lit up.
"Where is Sheldon?" Eric asked, his voice suddenly sounding like an actual thirteen-year-old boy. "And where is the media room?"
"Down the hall to the left," I pointed. "What is that?"
"My father has a business associate in Tokyo," Eric grinned, practically bouncing on his heels. "It just launched in Japan yesterday. It's called the Super Famicom. It has a sixteen-bit processor. It blows the Nintendo out of the water. I brought Super Mario World."
At the mention of the processor speed, Sheldon's head popped out from the hallway. He was wearing a brown corduroy suit with a yellow bowtie.
"Did you say a sixteen-bit central processing unit?" Sheldon asked, his eyes wide.
"Yes," Eric said, running toward him. "It has dual picture-processing units for background scaling."
"Fascinating," Sheldon said, abandoning his usual rigid posture and sprinting down the hall after Eric.
Missy burst through the back patio door, covered in grass stains from trying to tackle Zach Thomas. She saw the video game box.
"Hey! Don't start without me!" Missy yelled, sprinting down the hallway after the boys. "I call player one!"
Ten minutes later, I walked past the media room. The door was wide open. Eric, Sheldon, and Missy were sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet in front of the television. Eric wasn't talking about college scouts or defensive alignments. He was screaming at the top of his lungs because Missy had just accidentally knocked his character into a pit of lava. Sheldon was furiously calculating the parabolic arc of a Koopa shell.
It was loud, obnoxious, and perfect. Eric was finally just getting to be a kid.
Part 3: The Feast
At three o'clock, Mary Cooper announced that dinner was ready.
The Boosters had furnished the house with a massive, twelve-seat mahogany dining table. For the first time since we moved in, every single chair was filled.
Mary had covered every square inch of the wood with food. Two massive turkeys. Huge bowls of mashed potatoes, stuffing, green bean casserole, Serena's illegal truffle mac and cheese, and a mountain of warm dinner rolls.
The Recruits descended upon the table like a plague of incredibly polite locusts.
"Yes, ma'am, thank you, ma'am," Larry rumbled as Mary heaped a fourth scoop of potatoes onto his heavily bending plate.
I sat next to Serena, watching the chaos.
Sheldon had emerged from the media room just long enough to get a plate of perfectly separated food. He stood near the edge of the table, observing Larry Allen with morbid scientific fascination.
Larry had an entire turkey leg in one hand and a fork in the other.
"It is mathematically impossible," Sheldon stated loudly, pointing a carrot stick at Larry. "The human stomach has a maximum volume of roughly one liter when empty, expanding to perhaps four liters after a large meal. Mr. Allen has consumed at least six liters of dense biomatter in the last twenty minutes. He should be experiencing catastrophic gastric rupture."
Larry stopped chewing. He looked at Sheldon. He looked down at his empty plate.
"I have a fast metabolism, Sheldon," Larry said gently.
"You have a black hole localized entirely within your digestive tract," Sheldon corrected, before turning on his heel and running back to the media room because he heard the Super Mario game-over music playing.
Vera Allen laughed, a loud, joyous sound that echoed through the massive dining room. She was sitting next to Mary. The two mothers had hit it off immediately, bonding over the sheer stress of raising teenage boys who played a violent sport.
"He's always been like that, Mary," Vera smiled. "When he was ten years old, he ate an entire loaf of bread for a snack and then asked what was for dinner."
The atmosphere in the house was warm, loud, and perfect. The tension of the Dallas Country Club, the media hype, and the pressure of the undefeated season melted away completely. The Old Money snobs weren't here. The Boosters weren't here.
It was just family.
Part 4: The 19th Candle
After everyone had eaten until they could barely move, the noise in the house settled into a comfortable, sleepy hum. The Cowboys had won. Zach Thomas's dad was snoring softly on the leather sofa.
Mary Cooper walked into the living room and clapped her hands together.
"Alright everyone," Mary said, a massive smile on her face. "Make some room. We have one more piece of business to take care of."
Missy paused the video game in the media room, and the three kids came out to see what was happening.
Mary walked out of the kitchen carrying a massive, rectangular sheet cake. It was covered in thick white frosting with dark blue piping. There were nineteen candles burning brightly on top of it.
The entire room fell silent.
Larry Allen sat up on the sofa. He stared at the cake, his eyes wide.
"Happy birthday to you," Mary started singing.
Immediately, the entire house joined in. Meemaw sang loudly and off-key. George Sr. sang with a deep, rumbling baritone. Serena sang perfectly. Even Eric and Missy sang at the top of their lungs.
Larry's birthday was actually November 27th. He was older than the rest of us. He had been held back in school earlier in his life due to moving around so much before arriving in Texas. He was turning nineteen years old. A grown man playing a boy's game.
Mary set the heavy cake down on the coffee table right in front of him.
Written in blue frosting across the top were the words: HAPPY 19TH BIRTHDAY LARRY. WE GOT YOUR BACK.
Larry looked at the cake. He looked at the nineteen flickering flames. Then, the most terrifying, violent offensive lineman in the state of Texas looked up at my mother.
His bottom lip quivered.
"You made this?" Larry asked, his deep voice cracking slightly.
"From scratch, honey," Mary smiled softly, wiping her hands on her apron. "Your mother told me it was your favorite. Double chocolate with buttercream."
Larry looked around the massive living room. He looked at me, sitting with Serena. He looked at Zach and Jimmy. He looked at George Sr., who gave him a proud, steady nod. He looked at his mother, who was wiping a tear from her eye.
For the first time in his life, Larry wasn't just a giant asset to be used by a football program. He wasn't a mercenary relocated to Booster Row. He was sitting in a warm house, surrounded by people who actually cared about him.
A single, massive tear rolled down Larry's cheek. He quickly wiped it away with the back of his massive hand.
"Thank you," Larry whispered.
"Make a wish, big guy," George Sr. said.
Larry closed his eyes for three seconds. I didn't need the System to tell me what he wished for. He wished for a State Championship and a scholarship to buy his mother a real house.
Larry blew, extinguishing all nineteen candles in a single, massive gust of wind that actually blew a few empty paper plates off the coffee table.
The room cheered. Meemaw immediately demanded a corner piece with extra frosting.
Part 5: The Toast
While Mary and Vera were cutting the cake, George Sr. stood up.
He walked over to the fireplace. He didn't have his clipboard. He wasn't wearing his whistle. He held his bottle of imported, non-alcoholic German beer in his hand.
"Listen up," George said, his voice carrying easily over the chatter.
The room quieted down. The players instinctively gave their head coach their full attention. Eric, Sheldon, and Missy stopped arguing over cake slices and looked up.
"I'm not going to give a long speech," George said, looking around the room. He looked at the beautiful Highland Park mansion they were standing in, and then he looked at the kids from Booster Row and East Texas who filled it.
"When this season started," George continued, his voice thick with emotion, "I wasn't sure what kind of team we had. On paper, it was a mess. It was a political nightmare."
He looked directly at the window, knowing that somewhere across town, the former captain Derek Hollingsworth was likely sitting in an empty mansion.
"But sitting here today, looking at this room, I know exactly what kind of team we have," George said. "We have a family. You boys bleed for each other. You protect each other. When Georgie took that hit against Plano, I didn't have to step onto the field. Larry and Zach handled it. Because that's what brothers do."
George raised his bottle.
"Next Friday," George said, the coach returning to his voice, "the Texas playoffs begin. If you lose, you go home. The media thinks the pressure is going to break us. They think the target on our back is too heavy."
He looked at me. Then he looked at Larry.
"But they don't know who is sitting in this living room," George smiled. "To family. To the playoffs. Let's go win a ring."
"To family," I repeated, raising my plastic cup of sweet tea.
"To family," Larry rumbled, holding up his plate of cake.
The clinking of glasses and cups echoed through the massive Highland Park house.
I leaned back against the sofa, feeling Serena rest her head on my shoulder. Across the room, Eric was laughing out loud as Missy smeared frosting on Sheldon's nose.
The regular season was over. The Cold War was behind us. The assassins and the bounties didn't matter anymore, because anyone who wanted to get to me was going to have to go through the family first.
The real war was about to begin.
[Quest Complete: A Seat at the Table]
* Team Morale: 100% (Maximum Synergy Achieved).
* Larry Allen: Loyalty Locked (Unbreakable).
* George Sr. Stress Levels: Stabilized (Health Conspiracy successful).
* Next Objective: Survive the Texas 5A Playoffs.
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