Years ago, our children both moved to Chicago, and since they work harder than we do (and are in show business, which doesn’t stop for holiday weekends), we go to Chicago for Thanksgiving. When they took over, they announced that they were dispensing with our standard Thanksgiving menu. The following conference ensued:
   
"I never liked the onion pie," said our daughter. "Let’s not make that."
   
"Oh, I love that," said our son. "I’ll make it. But we can skip the potato thing."
   
"No," said our daughter. "I want that. I’ll make it."
   
And so on, through the cranberry ring, the pies and everything else. When our son married a vegetarian, even the turkey was in dispute, but our daughter supplies that. So we will be having the exact meal that we served them when they were growing up. All part of the sweet revenge of parenthood: Eventually, whether they want to or not, your children turn into you.