Messing With Tradition: SouthFlorida.com

I haven't told my kids yet, but I'm adding a new side dish to our Thanksgiving Day feast. I'm hoping to slip this small change through without any notice. It's risky, I know. "Leave well enough alone," my mom would have advised. "Don't fix something that's not broken." "Why mess with tradition?"

Tradition! Tradition! The song from "Fiddler on the Roof" rings in my ears. Tradition! Is that just another word for expectation? Because I know that my sons, Shawn, Jake and Seth, count on certain things to happen on Thanksgiving Day. For them and their dad, the elements are simple and immutable: watch football, throw the ball around during halftime, eat roasted turkey, pat their over-filled tummies and doze on the couch. I'm not crazy enough to change any of that.

My kids like everything the way is it -- the way it has always been -- the way they remember it when they were little. They don't react well to change when their dinner -- especially Thanksgiving dinner -- hangs in the balance.

But this November, they're in for a surprise. I'm not considering replacing the turkey with moo goo gai pan or swapping the pumpkin pie for tofu tarts. I won't commandeer the remote to watch an all-day "I Love Lucy" telethon.

Even though my planned improvement is minor, I know that I'm tempting fate. Every smart woman realizes that you don't mess with the status quo. That the meal you serve on Thanksgiving Day is sacred.

I get that. Some important things should stay the same. We find perfection in saying the Pledge of Allegiance, passing out cigars (real or bubble gum) to welcome a newborn or watching the New Year's Eve ball drop at Times Square. We are comforted by what we know, what's familiar, what's customary. We thrive on the routine and the expected.

I have no beef with Thanksgiving traditions. I have a few of my own, like sifting through the "day-after" sale ads in preparation for an early-morning shopping spree or eating apple pie for breakfast the next day. But sometimes you just gotta break the mold. Open the window to let in a fresh breeze. Shake the moths out of your Irish linen. What's wrong with adding something extra to a holiday famous for herb-scented stuffing, wishbones and counting blessings?

Our once-a-year-on-a-Thursday banquet will basically be the same. I'll still bake Sadye's sweet yeast dinner rolls. Nick's creamed carrots will find a corner of our dining room table. Aunt Sue will bring her to-die-for mashed potatoes. The candied yams (more candy than yams) will be stationed near Seth.

I promise not to take away any of foodstuffs that are ingrained in our family's history. Except maybe the cranberries (no one ever eats them anyway) and replace that slot with Watergate salad. OK, I've said it. This is all about me wanting to squeeze into our already bountiful Thanksgiving spread a concoction of whipped cream, pistachio pudding, pineapple and mini-marshmallows.

Who doesn't love this fluffy confection? I'd forgotten about it until a month ago when I enjoyed some at a friend's house. My mom used to make it on hot summer days, special occasions or pretty much when ever the mood struck her. It wasn't a part of any formal tradition, but it's a comforting edible memory of my childhood. Its flavor reminds me of when she was the one swirling around in the kitchen instead of me. I can still hear her singing "When the Saints Go Marching In" above the whir of the electric mixer as I waited to lick the beaters. Florence Yezbak's favorite salad needed to be chilled, but my memories of her are warm.

So maybe this menu renovation isn't about starting something new. It's more about reviving something old. A recipe that takes me back to when my mom was in charge and the only thing this little girl had to do was find her spot at the table. I'm not so different from my kids after all. I like things to stay the same. I feel safe when my family is gathered around the way they used to be. And even though life changes, thankfully I have a dinner table that expands to accommodate even those who can no longer be here. There's always room for family and friends, favorite recipes, new traditions. And if a bowl full of fluffy pale green pudding can bring back special memories of yesterday, then all I can say is: Move over green bean casserole!

Claire Yezbak Fadden, an award-winning columnist and freelance writer, is the mother of three sons. E-mail her at woman.at.heart@sbcglobal.net.