James Frederich Boudreau - this is my grandfather's name. He was born in 1918, just shy of the end of WWI. Living in Cambridge MA., he grew up with sixteen other siblings, eight of which were hockey-crazy brothers.. Although the Boudreau's were dirt poor, it didn't stop them from going all out for the holiday in there own "special" way. For Thanksgiving Mr. Boudreau would purchase a live turkey two to three weeks in advance and tie it to a pole in the basement. They would feed the bird to fatten it up and eat it on Thanksgiving Thursday. But.. this bird suffered serious abuse from my grandfather and his brothers. Dressing it in limited hockey goalie pads, they would place it in front of a net and shoot pucks at it for hours on end after school. My grandfather said they'd also wrestle it to the ground and beat it up. Now.. I think this is fucking hilarious, but I'm sure whoever reading this is appaulled and now thinks I'm a sick moron. Haha does it make you feel any better that I don't care? Anyways, my grandfather told us this entertaining story at the dinner table one Thanksgiving years ago, and so I thought I'd share it with our bloggers, if we have any anymore since Christina has dropped off the face of the Earth.
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