Thanksgiving used to be so simple. Back in the day, our teachers would give us crayons, construction paper and scissors. We’d trace our hands, cut them out and turn them into turkeys. We’d write what we were thankful for on the “feathers” (our fingers) and our teacher would hang them on the window.
But sometime between first grade and now, things got a bit complicated. I no longer worry about not waking up in time to view the entire Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade or how to entertain myself for the glorious week I had off from school.
This week, I’ve stressed about how to catch up on homework during my hectic two days off from school, contacting sources for a freelance story I’ve been writing and meeting application deadlines for internships and jobs.
And that doesn’t even scratch the surface — my family convenes in Baton Rouge for our traditional “Christmas at Thanksgiving” festivities starting Wednesday night. This celebration, which occurs every other year, is a by-product of a growing family of out-of-towners.
Christmas at Thanksgiving 2000 was particularly interesting. Occurring just weeks after the most screwed up presidential election in history, it was quite an experience for me, the sole Democrat adult in my family. My relatives from TEXAS and my relatives from FLORIDA thoroughly enjoyed explaining to me how when I was “older,” I would realize that voting Republican was the only way.
(Don’t you just love when people say that? I’ve heard that line so many times that I’m waiting for Republicans to propose changes in voting laws whereby people would be unable to vote until they are “older.” But I digress.)
I love my family members and I enjoy their Thanksgiving pilgrimage (get it?) to Baton Rouge. It’s just that they ask big questions, such as, “So how’s the job hunt?” and “Did you bring a boyfriend this year?”
The young family members have even gotten in on the act. My five-year-old cousin asked me at my grandfather’s birthday party when I was going to get married. He said getting married was easy — just find a boyfriend and marry him. I tried to explain that boyfriends didn’t grow on trees and he said I wasn’t trying hard enough.
As he sat on my lap with inquisitive eyes, I began to wish I was six again. I wanted to be sitting in my classroom back in elementary school debating whether my turkey should be orange, yellow or red. I used to rack my young brain to prioritize what I was more blessed to have — a happy family or a cabbage patch kid.
Those were the days.
Then I started thinking about the pending war with Iraq, the growing number of people living with HIV or AIDS, families who lost loved ones this year and the thousands of people who fell victim to the economy and lost their jobs.
The more you think about it, the more Thanksgiving still seems simple. Not to sound cheesy or like a guilt-ridden, bleeding-heart liberal — people accuse me of this sometimes — but most of us don’t have it that rough. Until I’m living in a war-torn country with a deadly disease without my family, I guess I can’t really complain.
A lot of us spend our time whining about tests, a high cell phone bill, not having a date this weekend or missing a football game.
Most of us are guilty at one point or another of allowing unimportant things to stress us out to the point of tears when real injustices exist in the world.
So, this Thanksgiving, I’m glad to be debating politics with my Republican relatives.
I’ll talk about nonexistent post-graduation plans for hours.
I’ll gleefully fend off comments about why vegetarians don’t eat turkey.
And when they point to my younger brother and note that he has a girlfriend, I’ll just smile and say — “So do all the boys I liked this year.”
Happy Thanksgiving.