REPORTER: I’m here live with Uncle Bill just moments after Thanksgiving dinner. Bill, can you walk us through what happened tonight?
UNCLE BILL: Sure, I mean, obviously, I’m not happy with the result. Before we took our places, I was informed I’d be sitting at the kids’ table, which, frankly, I think is a slap in the face given my history with this organization. Everyone likes to preach that we’re a family around here, and you just don’t expect to be treated this way by family. I respect the host’s judgment, but I disagree with the decision. I just tried to focus on the meal and do my best out there.
REPORTER: Were you given a reason as to why you were demoted?
UNCLE BILL: I honestly have no idea. I’m always offering new and exciting conspiracy theories to encourage open, socratic discussion. I’m the undisputed leading devil’s advocate in the family. If I have to get up to use the bathroom, I always crawl under the table so nobody has to scoot their chair in to let me squeeze by. I bring a lot to the table, but tonight I was told to take it elsewhere. I won’t lie to you. This hurts.
REPORTER: Did you talk with the host about the seating arrangement? Maybe it was a mistake?
UNCLE BILL: You know, I tried, but it’s hard to get a straight answer around here. I just wanted to have an honest conversation, so right after Grandpa blessed the food, I yelled out to the host, “What exactly is your problem with me anyway? You’re always treating me like a baby, and I’m sick of it!” She had nowhere to run. You should have seen her face.
REPORTER: I can’t imagine she appreciated that. How did she respond?
UNCLE BILL: Well, everyone stared, and she laughed uneasily to try to break the tension. She then deflected by saying the kids’ table “has a better view of the living room TV, so I wouldn’t have to get up to check my DraftKings parlays during the meal.”
REPORTER: I did notice that this year’s kids’ table was actually pushed against the grown-ups’ table. Did that help soften the blow at all?
UNCLE BILL: It helped some, but not much. It was still humiliating. The kids’ table was a good six inches shorter and wobbled whenever I tried to cut my ham. It was a safety hazard, and we’re lucky no one was seriously injured, especially considering how fast and loose some of those kids were playing with the hot gravy boat.
REPORTER: How did you adjust to the style and pace of play at the kids’ table? Some say it can be a totally different ball game.
UNCLE BILL: I gave it my best shot, but I could not find any common ground with these kids. We’ve never really eaten together, and we just didn’t have any chemistry. I was with a handful of nieces and nephews under ten years old, cousin Becca’s dweeb boyfriend of four years that no one likes, not even Becca, great-aunt Helene, who just played Candy Crush on her iPad with the volume up the whole time, and Bandit, the family labradoodle, who absolutely did not need his own place setting.
REPORTER: I imagine it took some time to get settled and start operating as a unit?
UNCLE BILL: We had our moments late in dessert. When the family went around the room asking what everyone was thankful for, I got all the kids to say “beer,” which was pretty awesome, but we ran out of things to talk about pretty quickly. We didn’t like any of the same cartoons, and the turkey made everyone sleepy. Not exactly an all-star performance from any of us.
REPORTER: This year, we saw Ted become the youngest family member to get promoted to the grown-ups’ table at only 12 years and 209 days old. Do you have anything to say to Ted?
UNCLE BILL: Welcome to the big leagues, Ted. Enjoy it while it lasts. One year, you’re the wunderkind who is “so mature for his age,” discussing your slightly above-average standardized test scores, and regaling the elders with your future plans to become a doctor, lawyer, astronaut, or some combination of the three. At twelve, you’re on a meteoric rise, but only thirty-five short years later, if you’re not careful, you’re the dinosaur that the meteor wipes out. Eventually, you’ll find yourself seated in a rusted fold-up chair, placed at the head of a plastic card table with no tablecloth on Thanksgiving day, defending yourself against the “spilled mac and cheese on the ground” accusations.
REPORTER: What’s next for Uncle Bill?
UNCLE BILL: I think a lot of uncles my age would take this as a sign to retire and become one of those old dudes who eat by themselves in the living room recliner during family meals. Not me. I’m still hungry. And that’s why I’ll be immediately appealing this decision to the family elders and hope to be reinstated to my rightful position by Christmas.
