Last weekend was Thanksgiving in Canada. Let me tell you about a man called Ken. Ken is not a real man. He is a lot of real men. If you were at a family dinner last weekend, there is a good chance one of them was at your table. Ken is 70. Retired. Three grandkids. Every year the family does Thanksgiving Sunday at his son Dave's house, ninety minutes down the 401. Ken started planning the day before. Not the food. The bathroom. He skipped his coffee in the morning. He went to the toilet twice before they left the house, the second time with his coat already on. Forty minutes in, he needed to go. He pulled into the ONroute and told his wife Joan he was getting gas. The tank was three-quarters full. Joan looked at the gauge and said nothing. At Dave's house there were twenty-two people, a twenty-pound turkey and one bathroom on the main floor. Ken knew where it was before he had his coat off. Dinner started at five. Ken ended up at the far end of the table, against the wall. Bad seat. Every time he needed to go, three people had to shuffle their chairs in. The first trip was before second helpings. A quick "excuse me." Fine. The second trip was the bad one. The door was locked. His niece was in there. Ken stood in the hallway for five minutes, holding it, looking at the line of light under the door and trying to look like a man who was just admiring the family photos. When he finally got in, nothing came quickly. You would think that when you have to go that badly, it would rush out. With an enlarged prostate it often does not. It starts, it stops, it dribbles. Somebody knocked. "Just a minute," Ken said, for the third time. When he sat back down, the pie was already cut. His granddaughter Maya, who is nine, asked for the whole table to hear: "Grandpa, why do you keep leaving?" "Too much cranberry juice," he said. Big laugh. Ken laughed too. He did not find it funny. He said no to the coffee with the pie. He said no to the glass of wine Dave poured him. Not because he did not want them. Because there was still the drive home.