The Thanks of Thanksgiving
Today is Thanksgiving Day in the United States, and a regular workday in Spain. Today, as I walked around on errands, I saw many "Black Friday" sales signs. Of course, instead of exporting the idea of a day set aside for giving thanks, they exported a day in which to clean our pockets and honor consumerism. Such is worldly nature.
I remember Thanksgivings as a child when my father would receive from his employer (a small, family-owned construction firm) an enormous turkey just for the three of us. My mother would bake it in the oven, surrounded by potatoes, and stuffed with a stuffing she made up. Before putting the turkey into the oven, she would chop up potatoes and onions, mix them with ground beef, and cook them in the frying pan. Then, she would stuff the turkey well with it, the extra overflowing onto the pan. There was no stinginess in her cooking.
We were never into the pies and dessert business, though. Nor into any vegetables cooked on the side. Our business was meat and potatoes. And we would have plenty of that. For at least a week afterwards the remains of the turkey would sit in the fridge. The first to go was always the stuffing. Then, the meat would slowly disappear into hashes or sandwiches. We also got into the habit of opening the fridge, slicing off some meat and just snacking with the fridge door open.
We never practiced large family gatherings on that day because it was not in our tradition. Only once did we share Thanksgiving. That was the year my uncle died. We went to his house to eat with my aunt and cousin. But the gathering of family is associated with Christmas Eve dinner here. Though, we never did have much family in Boston with which to gather, so holidays were quiet.
As for being thankful, I always saw what I had as a child as normal. Of course I had both parents. Of course I had a home and food. That was normal. As I grew, I realized that it was not so normal. Now, I am thankful for my husband and my daughter, and the love that binds us as a family. I am thankful for the house my parents left me, however ruinous repairs are. I am thankful for the little accident of being born in this corner of Europe and the possibility I had of growing up in the United States. That accident meant that I wound up speaking three languages, though two of them are quite similar. It also meant that my view of the world is not as narrow as it might have been if I had only been exposed to one culture.
It also meant I belong in the privileged first world. Though there are people with more privilege than me through birthright or wealth, I have infinitely more than so many born in so much of the world. And that much more that I have has come about only through the accident of birth. Today that we give thanks for our own blessings, perhaps we should give a thought to others who haven't as many blessings to give thanks for. Perhaps we should do a little bit to ensure that some day they, too, will have the blessings of peace, a loving family, food, and shelter. Those blessings shouldn't have to come about by accident.
I remember Thanksgivings as a child when my father would receive from his employer (a small, family-owned construction firm) an enormous turkey just for the three of us. My mother would bake it in the oven, surrounded by potatoes, and stuffed with a stuffing she made up. Before putting the turkey into the oven, she would chop up potatoes and onions, mix them with ground beef, and cook them in the frying pan. Then, she would stuff the turkey well with it, the extra overflowing onto the pan. There was no stinginess in her cooking.
We were never into the pies and dessert business, though. Nor into any vegetables cooked on the side. Our business was meat and potatoes. And we would have plenty of that. For at least a week afterwards the remains of the turkey would sit in the fridge. The first to go was always the stuffing. Then, the meat would slowly disappear into hashes or sandwiches. We also got into the habit of opening the fridge, slicing off some meat and just snacking with the fridge door open.
We never practiced large family gatherings on that day because it was not in our tradition. Only once did we share Thanksgiving. That was the year my uncle died. We went to his house to eat with my aunt and cousin. But the gathering of family is associated with Christmas Eve dinner here. Though, we never did have much family in Boston with which to gather, so holidays were quiet.
As for being thankful, I always saw what I had as a child as normal. Of course I had both parents. Of course I had a home and food. That was normal. As I grew, I realized that it was not so normal. Now, I am thankful for my husband and my daughter, and the love that binds us as a family. I am thankful for the house my parents left me, however ruinous repairs are. I am thankful for the little accident of being born in this corner of Europe and the possibility I had of growing up in the United States. That accident meant that I wound up speaking three languages, though two of them are quite similar. It also meant that my view of the world is not as narrow as it might have been if I had only been exposed to one culture.
It also meant I belong in the privileged first world. Though there are people with more privilege than me through birthright or wealth, I have infinitely more than so many born in so much of the world. And that much more that I have has come about only through the accident of birth. Today that we give thanks for our own blessings, perhaps we should give a thought to others who haven't as many blessings to give thanks for. Perhaps we should do a little bit to ensure that some day they, too, will have the blessings of peace, a loving family, food, and shelter. Those blessings shouldn't have to come about by accident.
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