Warrior Words: A Wilton Thanksgiving

“Pass the gravy, my dear,” says my Nana. Those sweet words drip from her mouth like honey. Around the oblong dining room table the chairs are squeezed so close together that I am touching shoulders with my uncle on my left, and cousin on my right. Candles glow and threaten to get knocked over by flailing hand gestures, as we all chit chat and chuckle. It is a wonderful vignette of us all deservingly stuffing our faces after the family turkey bowl.

This scene has become my romantic vision of Thanksgiving. In its honor I will create the Wilton Thanksgiving table guest list. This cast of guests fills me with some of my fondest memories of Wilton. And to my Nana, a New York native, I am sorry, but you may get the boot on this one.

The doorbell rings and it is none other than the Wilton Sports Announcer. The man behind the Fujitani Field microphone will finally unveil his true identity to me. No longer will I be left to wonder what face belongs to the debonair voice that announces our valiant Wilton Warriors. In an ironic turn, he will be the quietest one at the dinner table tonight.

The next to arrive, only the swankiest man in town, Walter Schalk. He brings with him a cast of jazz dancers, and a crew to put up his “Wally’s World” lights in preparation of the night’s festivities. This is the man who brings the style to our simple, small town. This suave dancing king will never cease to make genteel young adults out of boisterous fifth graders in his ballroom-dance classes. Thank goodness he accepted my invitation to turn the night into something closer to a cultured soirée.

Of course, I extend invitations to some of my most brilliant educators. First, Mrs. Nobles will arrive, gracing us with her silky and wonderful voice. Next, the squadron of English teachers will arrive, Mr. Koch, Mrs. Candles, Mr. Sheridan, Dr. Harvey, Mr. Walsh, and Dr. Vogel. An intelligent crew, they will raise the level of discussion. And an invitation to Madame Berliet, because as we all know, the French do it better. To Ms. Westerfield for making me like math a whole lot more. And finally, to my scientific friends, Mrs. Steadham, Mr. Lucey, Ms. Eckenrode, and Mrs. Tallman, because they will tell us all about how the world works.

Suddenly, in strolls Erica Malhorta, owner of “B” Chic, putting us all to shame with her fabulous designer jeans. Nails the perfect shade of pink and not a hair out of place, Erica will make the rest of us look like disheveled fools.

The doorbells rings, and it is Katina from the Village Luncheonette. She arrives bearing lemon chicken and rice soup with rolls and butter on the side (my go to sick-day entrée).

Right on her tail, Nancy from the Village Market. Thanks to her, I got a sweet deal on the last turkey the market had! And swiftly after, the Walls arrive lugging gallons of Swamp ice cream from Scoops for dessert.

My table is beginning to get full but, there are more on their way. Tom and Liz, my childhood gymnastic coaches from the Wilton YMCA are next to arrive. After them comes Heather Delude, my fearless and inspiring improvisation coach.

There you have it. My Wilton-themed Thanksgiving table. A full cast of people who will always help me remember the wonderful community that I come from. In honor of Thanksgiving, I would like to thank all those who have made these past 17 years of living great. I do not say it enough, but I am thankful and proud to be a Wiltonian.

Lynn Huffard is a senior at Wilton High School. She shares this column with four classmates.