The Youngest Thanksgiving Hosts - NYTimes.com What will your children cook for your Thanksgiving table? Our Thanksgivings are erratic. We don't always celebrate in the same way or with the same friends or family, which means our traditions are still evolving. For the past few years, we've taken dishes to the meal rather than cooking it in its entirety ourselves. But we always cook something, and my two eldest children have gradually developed their specialties. My older son is in charge of the finicky, multistep process of creating sugared cranberries; my oldest daughter creates a mean plate of veggies and lemony-mint-yogurt dip. I'd tell you that, as a part of my grand master plan, we've ensured that these items travel well or are easily recreated in any kitchen - but I'd be lying. Really, they're simple things and easily handed off by the busy cook (me) focused on the stove and not the starters. But what started as a way to get the children involved has gradually become, for each, a small tradition - the thing they do to make the big meal happen. I cook a lot, which means my children are all relatively comfortable in the kitchen. It also means they all know how to get the smoke detector to turn off. They'll be helping with the stuffing and Brussels sprouts and being tutored again in the art of gravy this year. One will be at his cousin's side, as always, learning to carve. But giving them their own specialties that go beyond the role of "helper" (and learning not to micromanage their execution) has had the pleasant result of making them feel an ownership in not just the meal, but the event. They want to make sure everyone is comfortable. They want to make sure everyone is happy. And they want to make sure that everyone has had ample opportunity to sample their creations. This sense of being partly responsible for the success of a social function is one of the things that lies at the heart of all good manners. Along with chewing with their mouths closed and keeping "elbows off the table, Mabel," children should learn that the true goal of most etiquette rules is to make sure that everyone, guest or host, is comfortable. Comfortable in a room where they're not tripping over toys or discarded shoes. Comfortably able to talk with the other adults around them as well as the children. Comfortable knowing that no guest will become inspired to climb the étagère. That kind of comfort is best achieved when everyone is working together to make it happen. Their freshly made specialty dishes give them an entree into the party, something to talk about with long-unseen relatives, and a small understanding of the pleasure that the other cooks have in inviting others to taste the things they've made. They're invested in making the meal a success. As we head into the holiday travel season, I plan to show my children Cloudmom Melissa Lawrence's inspired video on table manners. We'll discuss, as we did last year, assorted mannerly basics and the graceful way of accepting a gift, should one be given. And we'll hit some child-specific reminders (trust me, there's a reason I mention climbing the étagère) and agree on a signal that should provoke a reconsideration of whatever the signaled child is doing, whether it's dominating the conversation or forgetting to use a fork for green beans. But this year, I'll add something I think I've overlooked in the past - an explanation of why we have "manners" at all, and one principle you can always refer back to when in doubt: do whatever is most likely to make those around you feel comfortable. I'll be delighted if they all remember to put their napkins in their laps, but even more delighted if, at the end of the evening, their hosts aren't happier to see them leave than they were to see them in the first place. You can find the recipe for my son's sugared cranberries here. A shorter version of this post appeared on page D2 of the print edition on Thursday, November 22, 2012.