I remember when Generation Woke decided to take Thanksgiving. The narrative fit right into the oppressed/oppressor mindset. America was a rotten, fetid empire of colonizers who marauded through the pristine countryside and then forced the Native Americans to eat with them for Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving was now “problematic.” Celebrating it, even more so. High-status influencers who made a great living off of our Capitalist system pronounced their objections to this once-great American holiday, to take a brave stand against it, because, especially in 2020, every white person was expected to atone for their sins of the past and their white privilege now.
“We’re not celebrating Thanksgiving,” so went the lengthy, agonizing, virtue-signaling posts on Instagram. Maybe they’d be out feeding the poor, though still celebrating Thanksgiving, just not for themselves. Charity could wipe clean the shame.
Once Trump was pushed out and Biden put in power, the waters calmed, the screaming stopped, and Thanksgiving was no longer a curse upon all of us.
Now, here we are, Trump is in power again, and Thanksgiving has now become yet another crisis that must not go to waste. We are to enter the holidays thinking of the president committing illegal acts and whether or not members of the military will take a stand against him and start a hot Civil War.
Thanksgiving must be a reminder of the Nazi occupation that is starving the poor, especially the Black and Brown people, who are being hunted down and thrown into concentration camps.
The order has come down that all must be miserable. Four long years to make Americans suffer for the crime of the Democrats losing an election to Trump again.
Says Senator Patty Murray.
How dare we speak Happy Thanksgiving! How dare we speak Merry Christmas!
With all due respect to those trapped inside the Doomsday Cult, no. Just no. This is one day you can’t take from us. You can’t shame us out of it. You can’t tell us not to gather with our loved ones around a table and enjoy a meal.
Thanksgiving is not yours to take. It never was. You can be miserable if you’d like, but those of us who are grateful just to wake up another day, let alone to cook a meal or get invited to a meal, are grateful for the bounty. Grateful for life at all. Grateful for each other. And, for many, grateful to God. Yes, we dare speak Happy Thanksgiving.
Fond Memories
I always thought Thanksgiving was the great unifier. It wasn’t like Christmas, where only some people celebrated. It was an everybody thing. That was how we saw it and how we were taught to understand it.
Thanksgiving for most of my life was held at my grandmother’s house in the San Fernando Valley. With her tattered framed letter from Bill Clinton hanging on the wall, her ceramic Siamese cats frozen in place on her glass coffee table, the plastic lining that covered her good sofa, the piano in the corner nobody played, her gold-plated flatware, the good dishes, and the nice tablecloth, freshly laundered and ironed, her Thanksgiving was one of my fondest memories.
She spent all day cooking the turkey, and when it was finally done, it would be presented as the greatest thing any of us had ever seen. And so it was. I’m not saying it was straight out of Norman Rockwell or anything. It was pure chaos most of the time, and often a powder keg, but somehow on that day, we all knew how to behave.
My grandma’s turkey was one thing. Her pies were legendary. She would put too much cinnamon in the pumpkin pie, but that’s what made it good. It was the warm house on a cold winter day, even in California, that I remember most, and the way we could smell the food cooking even outdoors. We did not eat all day, preparing to fill our bellies until we could not breathe.
We were poor in the early days, and on welfare, so Thanksgiving at my grandma’s house was one way we felt normal, doing what every other family did. Even those at rock bottom need a day to say thank you and give grace, no matter their circumstances in life. That’s what it’s for. It elevates us out of our misery, or at least it can.
We didn’t say thanks or grace back then because in my family, that could spell trouble. It was all about the meal, about my grandma’s infamous cooking, and all of us seated together in a cramped suburban home, talking to each other, spending time together, time we’d never get back.
Over the years, Thanksgiving moved from house to house. When my grandmother was too old to host, she’d offer to bring up the Turkey to my brother’s house in Ojai, California. Once, we waited three hours for her to arrive with the Turkey, now cold, sitting in her trunk. Once, she accidentally used salt instead of sugar when baking her apple pie.
Before long, she couldn’t make the drive, and Thanksgiving, for her, was over. I still can’t think of it without thinking of her. I think of her every time I roll out homemade pie crust, using the glass of ice water she taught me to use, or the way she taught me to cut the green apples, throwing away the peels and dropping the flesh into a bowl of lemon water to keep it from browning.
I think of her whenever I see a turkey coming out of the oven, and I remember how she liked her stuffing inside the bird rather than the modern way of cooking it separately in a casserole. I think of how much she loved America and its traditions and how faithful she was to all of them.
My grandmother taught us what it meant to be grateful for all we had, even if it wasn’t much. Thanksgiving isn’t about the cost. It can be celebrated on a paper plate in a food kitchen or in the park, just as easily as it can be in my grandmother’s dining room or at a restaurant. It’s the idea of it, one of the few rituals we have left that we can share, at least among those of us still holding onto the fragile idea of an America at all.
On their live version of America This Week, Walter Kirn and Matt Taibbi reported on how so many high-minded outlets see it as their duty to treat Thanksgiving like a funeral for America, but here is what Thanksgiving is really about.
I guess that’s why I drive six days across the country every year to see my daughter on Thanksgiving. It turns out that it means a lot to me, too, and I always want to make sure I don’t miss even one. I have cooked more than my share of Thanksgiving dinners, and I hope I’ve created memories for my daughter. Maybe someday I’ll be the grandmother to her children, and the ritual will begin anew.
It isn’t just a day to cook or eat but a day to say thank you for the blessings in my life, for the luck I’ve had, for the love I’ve experienced, for the beauty I can still see in this country and its people, from state to state. If we can do this on this one day, maybe we will be okay.
That is why I’d like to thank all of you. It’s been a hell of a ride these past five years. Thank you for the warmth and kindness you’ve given me, the support, the praise, the criticism, the subscriptions, the donations, and the encouragement. I don’t know where I’d be without you.
I hope you have a Happy, yes Happy Thanksgiving. All the best to you.
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