I hardly recognize my street these days. Multicolored leaves cling to the trees; kids at the bus stop wear jackets and sometimes gloves. A few Halloween decorations remain on lawns; a few Christmas decorations have appeared. Sitting here in my tee-shirt, it hardly seems possible that Thanksgiving could be a week away. But there it is, taunting me with its mixed meaning.
Each year around this time, flyers start popping up around
Maybe they did; maybe some small band of good Europeans befriended the indigenous people, trading skills and tools and cooking up some mythical pot luck. Rumor has it, the natives agreed to bring their special cranberry sauce but it turned out it was canned.
Sadly, no amount of elementary school pageantry, no number of Timmys dressed as turkeys, no amount of headdresses or faux-deer smocks can turn
Each year, I wrestle with Thanksgiving’s dirty secret, even as it is buried beneath neighborhood games of touch football and cartoon character parade balloons. I think about it even as I embark on the multi-day ritual of brining, drying and roasting the turkey; even as I coordinate pot-luck side-dishes; even as I eagerly tally the RSVPs from the mish-mash of family, friends and friends of friends who spend the day at my home.
This year, like the years before, I will eventually console myself by agreeing to be saddened by our past while appreciating a tradition that gives me an excuse to spend time with many of the people I enjoy. I will treat Thanksgiving like the sappy version of any other dinner party, replacing Mediterranean finger foods with sweet potato casserole and cornbread stuffing.
Thanksgiving is also an opportunity to truly consider the meaning of the word, and in so doing spend real time considering our fortunes. In that way, Thanksgiving sometimes reminds me of the Jewish holiday Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. In order to truly observe either, we must not only consider the events of the previous year – what went right, what went wrong – but consider how to turn those into a better year to come.
While on Yom Kippur, we beat our chests and beg forgiveness, on Thanksgiving we can take a less intense approach. I’m thankful for a supportive, smart, fun husband, so next year I’ll work even harder to not take my bad moods out on him. I’m thankful to have a thriving career doing work I love, so next year I will be vigilant to seize every opportunity.
I’m thankful to be American. Despite our ugly history that extends well beyond the settlers, through the slave trade and into today’s political and global scandals, this is an amazing country with unlimited potential. Next year, I will do my part to move our country even closer to what it should be: the global role-model for freedom and democracy.
3 comments:
I can remember when both Thanksgiving and Christmas where considered were considered times of family togetherness and spiritual growth. Lately that has not been the case. Christmas can no longer be celebrated in our schools (how dare we offend anyone with Silent Night-Holy Night).
Your Thanksgiving post in the newspaper insists that Thanksgiving now should be served with perpetual guilt rather than with an awareness of our common humanity.
Your article appears to imply that the Pilgrims Thanksgiving was nothing more than the first planning session for the Trail Of Tears! Do you want to explode the myth of the kindly European? fine-but lets also explode the myth of the noble, gentle, agrarian Indian! have you bothered to read of the torture techniques used by the Hurons or Iroquois? years before the term:"it takes a village" the natives decided that misery loves company. Thus men,women and children took part in torturing a war captive. Where is the guilt?
I don't feel any guilt in how the American Indian or any other minority group or gender has been treated. We should have learned by now that Group Guilt was practiced quite well by the Nazis! So, Sarah, stick to writing about food!
This is a blog??? It's about as dead as an Indian village after a pox laced blanket party.
What a blog-maybe it should be called a bog instead. And this blog was awarded 2nd prize for area bloggers? Looks like blogging is as popular as the old black and white television sets! No wonder I go by anonymous-would not want anyone to know that I post here...
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