We Gather Together

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It is not just the refugees from New York and Washington, however, who will return home with war stories to tell and scars to compare. All families have their free spirits and their sentinels, and this year it will be intriguing to see who has swapped roles. Among the Wootens of Nashville, son Luke, a record producer, calls himself the Chicken Little of the family. He's the one who stockpiled water and bought the gas masks, though they turned out to be too big for his four- and five-year-old sons. When the clan assembles next week, he expects to discuss what they would do in the event of another attack. "I'm not saying we should move to the mountains and wait for the end to happen," he says. "But I think it's wise to have a contingency plan." His wife Nicole has talked of her mother's farm in Gatlinburg, Tenn., as a possible refuge.

Luke and Nicole Wooten are expecting their third baby on Thanksgiving, so this year the family will be coming to them--turkey in the maternity ward, if it comes to that. Actually Nicole has been reading up on home birthing; hospitals seem like risky, contaminated places these days. She's also worried about playing host to a big event when her kitchen is being remodeled; maybe this is the year to have Thanksgiving pizza. "The holiday is not about making the perfect cranberry sauce," she says.

As in many households, the inevitable political conversation promises some surprises this year. Sisters Amanda and Shelley are the liberal Democrats; they lovingly describe Luke as "almost a right-wing extremist." And yet they find themselves changing seats, sharing views. "I've always been a pacifist, but I've shocked myself at how my views toward Bush have changed," says Amanda. "Before this, my heroes were my parents. But now I've come to appreciate leadership." Shelley, meanwhile, is bracing herself for the plane flight from San Francisco, but says, "A lot of people in the city, in their 20s, feel rootless. Being with my family is very grounding." The vulnerability she's been feeling lately has helped her decide to move to Nashville next year, to be near Luke and his family. "Being close to my family is a lot better than being close to cool bars."

The Wootens may have reached a new political consensus, but families that like to argue about politics will still find lots of meat on the table. The only change they expect might be a new humility; that however much the left and right wings may disagree about the most promising path to peace, the goal is shared, as is the awareness of just how hard it may be to reach it. Benjamin Cerniglia is a Marine corporal at Camp Pendleton in California, awaiting orders to ship out at any time; his brother Joseph, 18, is a college student in Greensboro, N.C., and an avowed pacifist. They had an e-mail fight three weeks after the attacks and have barely communicated since. "He thinks I am anti-American, which I'm not," says Joseph, "and I think he's a right-wing conservative, which he resents." But the younger sibling is mourning the loss of his brother as a close confidant. "I feel really sad now. He was someone I could talk to if I had a serious problem." He is trying to muster the strength to ask his brother's forgiveness. "I'm not going to change my views, but I regret being somewhat malicious with my words."