We are on the cusp of yet another Thanksgiving that has strict traditional norms that will be enforced with impunity by families across the USA. Thanksgiving used to be simple, as a kid. We’d sing some songs, make a construction paper turkey with outlined cutouts of our hands, go home, and enjoy a meal that made all the adults fall asleep on the couch in front of a football game, and eat ourselves sick on pumpkin pie and whipped topping.
It wouldn’t be until much later I’d realize the irony of saying we are so thankful for what we have and then less than 24 hours later go on shopping sprees that have literally trampled people to death.
And it isn’t that I hate Thanksgiving: I don’t. I am as big a fan of turkey and mashed potatoes as the next person. But I simply had never given much thought to the entire concept of Thanksgiving as a holiday. Then we adopted our kids. I found myself having to explain the holiday and coming up short on why it is the way it is.
The worst part for me, though, is that some people insist on going around the room and listing things we are thankful for. Now, don’t get it twisted. I have so much I’m thankful for—loads. But I am also a person who, when asked a question that puts me on the spot, my brain stops working. My favorite color is purple. It has been my favorite color since I was 5. Ask me my favorite color out of nowhere and I’ll have to think about it. Ask me about my favorite book and I’ll forget the names of every book I have ever read. You see where this is going, correct? Ask me, in front of a group of people, some of whom I rarely see throughout the year, what I am thankful for and my mind goes completely blank. New, out-of-the-box, whiteboard blank. Blue-screen-of-death blank. Pristine, unopened ream of printer paper blank. Words? What are words?
It is both embarrassing and frustrating in nearly equal parts. Even if I prepare ahead of time, I am likely to either say something true but not real (I’m thankful for mashed potatoes. It’s honest but if I could think I’d say something about a friendship I’ve made or an accomplishment I’m proud of) or something that is both true and real but sounds like a canned interview answer. (I’m thankful for my husband who is always there for me. Is this honest? Yes. Is it true? Also yes. Is that the point of the question? Probably not really)
If I am bad at this game, my kids are rock bottom of the league. Not because they aren’t thankful, but because, like me, they cannot be put on the spot and expected to perform. It’s unfair. It is especially unfair when there are adults who will insist the thing they should say, the thing they should be thankful for, is that my husband and I adopted them.
I will always be thankful that if my kids needed a safe place, I could be it. I will never be thankful that they needed me in the first place. I will also never allow them to feel pressured to say things that make the other adults in the room happy at the expense of their own personal feelings. The truth of the matter is no child, biological, adopted, step, or otherwise should be asked to say they are thankful their parents love them on Thanksgiving or any other day of the year. That should be a given. It should never cross our minds to require a child to say “I’m thankful my parents take care of me.”
Even if it’s true, it marks the fact that there are children whose parents do not take care of them and perhaps those very kids have other parents who didn’t take care of them. And who wants to be forced to think of that when the entire object of the holiday is to feel thankful?
Another reason I don’t love the holiday is because people who would otherwise not see one another, and therefore would not be required to interact, will feel the need to impose their “correct” version of political views on their family members. It is not the time to make everyone at the table uncomfortable while discussing politics. Just, no. Why do people feel this is in any way appropriate? I will never understand.
Football. Or as I affectionately call it “hand egg.” Because the ball rarely actually touches feet, and it is not round like all the other sports balls. Why is this somehow an ingrained part of the culture? Again, I’m baffled. Not because I’m morally opposed to the game. I think it’s fine. I just don’t understand the hype, I suppose. I don’t get why it’s attached to this holiday that is mostly commercialized overeating. I don’t really mind it, just in the contemplation of the holiday in general I’m questioning the . . . thematic continuity is all.
All in all, I’m not mad we have a few days off to see people we love and enjoy good food. I’m starting to question the “why” behind so many of the things we do. I hope my kids will grow up in a world they have so much to be thankful for they’ll not struggle to come up with an answer when they’re asked. I hope that while they’re still growing we can protect them from a world that insists they be both thankful for what they have and less than a day later insist they’ll miss out if they don’t have the newest iPhone. Like all things seem to be at this point, Thanksgiving is a work in progress. And you know what? The fact that I get the privilege to guide them through all of this? I’m thankful for it.
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