Last year I was 2,500 kilometres away from my family for Thanksgiving, stuck in Whitehorse with a pasta dish and a stack of movies. After that sad holiday in the north, I vowed to never miss a turkey holiday again and I made 2010 count with a trip home to Kimberley, B.C. for the weekend.

I must have downed an entire sack full of potatoes and turnips, with a healthy dollop of my mother’s world famous stuffing. Seriously, when people say they make good stuffing, ignore them until you have tried my mom’s. It contains over a pound of butter and is always the first thing to go at any holiday dinner she cooks. This year we didn’t even have any leftovers, which was too bad. I could have eaten that for breakfast this morning. 

This Thanksgiving was a big one for my family because it was also my Dad’s 50th birthday. We had been planning a surprise party for months; sneaking relatives into town, secretly stacking wood for a fire and hiding cakes and food in freezers all over the property. I obviously didn’t get my journalistic instincts from my father because he never suspected a thing. 

When my uncle from North Bay, Ont., and then my brother and his girlfriend from Whitehorse randomly walked through the door, he still didn’t think anything was up. 

It was my brother Eric and his friend’s job to keep Dad occupied for the day, and they didn’t do it very well. They went out to the shooting range and the entire time Dad worried about bringing home a bucket of chicken for dinner, while Eric encouraged him to go to another gun range and so on. They finally ran out of stalling techniques, so they came home to find several people milling around, but not enough to do the typical surprise party yell. We came up with a new plan: We just didn’t tell him at all. 

People began showing up with potluck items and Dad still didn’t figure anything out. Once about 15 people were there he began worrying about starting a fire. He didn’t clue in when we told him there was already wood stacked by the fire pit. He wondered how we were going to feed all these people, and we said, “Don’t worry Dad, there’s chili.” The gears in his head were turning, I could tell he wondered when someone had made chili under his nose, but he still didn’t put two and two together. 

Finally about an hour into the party I ended up telling him. The confusion on his face was priceless, but I began to feel bad for him. We were all having a great time but Dad was fussing and trying to be the host. It was his own party, he deserved to know he was the guest of honour.

The rest of the night went great. Dad enjoyed being doted on and treated to a party he swore he didn’t want. 

I think we have re-invented the surprise party – just don’t tell the person you’re surprising and hope they figure it out.

DISCLAIMER: The Last Word is an opinion column, it is meant to provoke thought and debate. As such, any opinions written here are the writers own and do not reflect the viewpoint of any other Fitzhugh staff member or the directors of the Jasper Media Group Inc.