A Thanksgiving Like No Other

Today is Thanksgiving in the USA. As a child, I happily celebrated this holiday with my family every year. I was young enough and self-centered enough to be unaware this was an American tradition rather than a world-wide phenomenon. It was only later, when I grew up and attended college, that I learned that other cultures did not also recognize this unique excuse for a holiday.

While it is true that many other countries happily took part in the extended extermination of the Native Americans, it was only those of us that later chose to stay in the newly vacated territories who annually elect to celebrate the racial extinction called manifest destiny.

Relax, this isn’t going to become a history lesson or politically correct rant. I promise. Read on.

Despite its socially distasteful past, I love Thanksgiving. I enjoy celebrating the holiday as a chance to gather with family for the sole reasons of eating too much food, drinking too much alcohol, and arguing about why the Lions – the worst team ever to walk out onto a football field – continually get scheduled to play on Thanksgiving Day. Is the NFL punishing them by never allowing them to be home for Thanksgiving? Or are they punishing us for never watching Lions games during the rest of the season?

It’s a mystery that may never be resolved in the Wilbanks household.

We have a large family, and every two years the entire extended group shows up at our house to celebrate Thanksgiving. If you are a longtime reader of Deep Dark Thoughts, you probably already know this. You have been informed of past years’ trials and tribulations during this time of year. I fully expected this year to be able to regale readers of yet another year of alcohol-fueled political discussions, hurt feelings, insulted relatives that I wouldn’t hear from for another twelve months, and the general mayhem that goes along with squeezing a large group of related people into the same room for three days.

Unfortunately, due to circumstances being what they are, this will most likely be a more subdued celebration. We may all see each  other, but it will most likely be through computers and phones, and the arguments will be much shorter as hitting the disconnect on a phone is much quicker and easier than trying to find out who stole your keys while you were drinking your eighth glass of the holiday punch.

The gathering will be much smaller, limited to those family members that we have been quarantined with for the past eight months and those willing to brave the cold of the backyard patio. I’m sure there will be a few sturdy souls sitting in lawn chairs and waving at us through the sliding glass door. It won’t be comfortable out there, but hey, free food is free food.

We will be following all the recommended rules of engagement as we dine. The turkey will be wearing a mask for five hours as it sits in a 350-degree oven. When it is placed on the table it will be properly socially distanced from the rest of the food invited to attend. I too, will most likely be socially distanced from the cranberry sauce as I have been accused many times of taking more than my fair share of this commodity. The rest of the family continually insists that cranberry sauce is a garnish for other side dishes and not to be confused as a side dish itself.

I respectfully disagree and will continue to fill my plate as I see fit.

But I digress.

There will most likely be the same amount of food prepared as past years, but the actual attendees will be fewer. We will all be appropriately spaced from each other, of course, so as not to risk exposure to someone else’s cooties. This will be a benefit for me actually as the smaller members of my family have in the past found it totally acceptable to sneeze at the table with their mouths full. I have more than once had to politely brush away partially chewed olives and bread rolls from my plate and clothing while at the same time pretending I didn’t want to beat a child to death with a drumstick off of the turkey.

The drawback, however, is that regular social discourse will also be greatly hampered. A normally simple act such as passing the salt from one family member to another will now more closely resemble a last second, 50-yard, Hail Mary pass in the final seconds of a football game.

A Lions football game, as I can almost guarantee the intended recipient is going to miss the catch.

Conversations will be stilted and awkward as well. Statements shouted across the table will invariably be misheard or misunderstood. Although, I actually think this might be the best part of the meal. We could make a game out of it. When someone shouts, “I would like some more fruit salad,” and Aunt Mary runs out of the room to lock herself in the bathroom and cry, we can all take guesses as to what the hell she thought she heard.

To be honest, we already play this game every year since Aunt Mary is hard of hearing and easily offended.

She’s also a Lion’s fan.

Happy Thanksgiving!

.

.

.

Enjoying Deep Dark Thoughts? Follow me on Facebook so you don’t miss a post. Just go to my page and click the “Like” button to receive updates on my blog and other projects.

And you can follow me on Twitter @gallenwilbanks.