Growing up, almost all of our Thanksgiving dinners were at my Grandma Catherine’s house.
It was easier because her kitchen was larger to accommodate the whole family and that also made it easier to cook everything, too.
I know that my mom and my aunt helped out but, by a certain age, I was expected to do more.
Still, I think my favorite part once all the food was put away and the dishes done was getting a chance to crack the bird’s wishbone.
I was always impatient to try my hand at it and see if it would grant the wish I wanted most.
Back then it was usually some new Barbie doll or other Disney toy – maybe candy or some other junk food, too.
Grandma made a point of telling me she’d “accidentally” thrown it away and I was disappointed that I’d missed my chance.
Fast forward a few days until I’d forgotten about the wishbone and then she pulls it from its hiding space and tells me I can make a wish right there at that moment.
I just remember it being overwhelmingly exciting and I’d forget whatever I’d wished for the moment the bone broke.
I know that I didn’t always win and as time passed I ended up sharing the wishbone tradition with my siblings instead of my uncles.
Now, it’s a habit for me to save the wishbone anytime we get one then have my brother or sister share it with me.
But, lately, I’d been wondering where the wishbone superstition started overall.
I’ve heard plenty of friends over the years who had a similar tradition.
Sometimes, whoever had the bigger piece of the broken bone got a candy or toy prize in addition to their wishes.
Unfortunately, when I told my grandma what happened with those kids, she just told me it was because they were doing it “wrong.”
Regardless, I was now curious at age 34 as to where it all originated from.
Thanks to Google, I discovered that “wishbone breaking” has been a cultural superstition since ancient Rome.
That’s a whole lot of ancestors to filter through to modern times!
The wishbone is a forked bone that’s the fusion of two clavicles called the “furcula.”
It’s located right between the neck and breast of a bird.
I’m glad we went with the “wishbone” name instead of furcula.
After all, could you imagine a four or five-year-old child saying furcula?
I mean, it would be hilarious, but, still a mouthful.
Now, I don’t know if I’ll remember all of this when it comes time to break the next furcula.
But, at least I hope I can impart some new information to you, too.
Right now, I’ve got a dried wishbone ready to share with the next sibling that comes home.
Hopefully, I can wish for my right ankle and fibula to be healed in an instant and have it come true.
If not, I’m still in the hands of healthcare professionals and have the best support system anyone could ask for.