Apocope

Apocope (a-pok’-o-pe): Omitting a letter or syllable at the end of a word. A kind of metaplasm.

“Nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from the oven.” Why do I remember this? I don’t remember what it’s a slogan for—maybe oven, or cake or a Thanksgiving turkey. I can see us now—huddled around the table—the table piled high with steaming food. My Grandfather would slip out his 2 foot carving knife—so dull it shouldn’t be called a knife. It was more like a tire iron. He’d slam it down on the turkey, and as he started to carve, the turkey would move around propelled by the dull blade

Uncle Carmine would yell “Chadrool” from across the table and pull out a ten inch switchblade knife, get up, and push my grandfather out of his chair. He had the turkey sliced and diced in about two minutes—he was like one of those Japanese chefs at Benihana. Aunt Candice told Carmine he should apologize to grandpa for pushing him. He told he to go “F” herself. Her husband, Uncle Buck didn’t like that one bit. He told Carmine “You apologize to Candice or I’ll cut off your nuts and put ‘em in the gravy.”

Carmine was ready to blow. Then Grandma chimed in: “Stop this bullshit right now—nobody’s going to cut off anybody’s nuts. This is Thanksgiving for God’s sake. Carmine! Apologize!” Carmine closed his switchblade and apologized.

Uncle Filbert started the prayer. He was a fake Catholic Bishop. He had no pull or influence as such. His primary motive was the vestments. He loved going to the mall in full dress and have people make the sign of the cross at him, and from time to time he would say “Bless you.” He began the prayer: “Father, thank-you for the bounty we are . . .”

Carmine yelled “Fuc*k you!” He grabbed his wife’s arm and headed for the door. Filbert yelled “You Goddamn hothead. Go! Leave! Get out of here. May your mother burn in hell!” Carmine pulled his knife and started climbing across the table. Filbert held up his cruxifix like he was trying to ward off a vampire. Grandpa hit Carmine over the head with a silver gravy boat. The gravy poured over Carmine’s face and he hit the floor out cold.

Thanksgiving dinner went on with unconscious Carine stretched out on the kitchen floor. It was peaceful. It was family like it ought to be. After we finished dessert, Grandma called an ambulance for Carmen. As they wheeled him out the front door we yelled “Asshole” in one familial voice. He heard us and started struggling on the gurney. Grandpa said “We shoulda’ killed him.” We all laughed, even Carmine’s wife and children.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

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