REMEMBERING WHEN THANKSGIVING WAS SIMPLE
Once upon a time, in a place increasingly far away, Thanksgiving was simple.
My happiest memories are from before it became as shopping-focused. I remember getting up early, helping my mother get everything ready and waiting for all the guests to show up. Those guests included my older siblings Janet and Anita, who were married and out of the house. Turkey was a once-a-year treat at our house, and as the morning wore on, the scent of it roasting filled the kitchen and made my stomach rumble. I was (and am) a white-meat fan; I liked it fresh and hot, but because my big brother preferred his cold, when serving time came around, I usually grabbed a couple slices and put them in the refrigerator to cool off.
Each year Anita brought some wonderful addition to the meal. I can’t remember what all her treats were, but I know she made her own chocolates, generally in Christmassy shapes, and somehow they tasted better than anything that came out of Hershey, Pennsylvania.
Janet brought games: Scrabble, Mastermind and more. We played those games for hours as the day moved on. As I grew a little older, marathon games of rummy broke out, becoming a staple game not just for holidays but whenever we got together.
I love those memories because they’re so different from what I’ve experienced as an adult. I spent many holidays alone as I moved from place to place. The first few years of our marriage, my wife and I went up to see her family on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Those were large affairs, but I didn’t know anyone terribly well. I lacked the intimacy I share with my siblings.
Then the big gatherings broke down. Either my wife or I or both of us had to work each Thanksgiving. We couldn’t travel. We continued to visit her family each Christmas, but the extended family got too large; each year the festivities turned to smaller and smaller groups. This year my wife has to work on Thanksgiving night, but her parents are driving into town to spend several hours with us.
All the Christmas traditions we’ve formed will fall by the wayside this December; we’ll be going to a different city, staying in a different house.
Change comes to all things. As a traditionalist whose anxiety leads me to prefer sameness and routine, it’s hard for me to feel good about this season of alteration, just as it’s been difficult to see Thanksgiving become more about commerce than togetherness.
I’ve had more time to adjust to that change, of course, and although I prefer the old ways, I recognize that the holiday shopping blitz has become a tradition in many families. Braving the darkness and cold is part of how they launch their celebrations. Instead of bonding over long, leisurely meals, they spend hours talking to each other and to new friends outside the stores with the best sales.
Mind you, I have occasionally taken in the spectacle of Black Friday. I do admit to participating in the shopping frenzy in the past. Mutual suffering, in my experience, leads to conversations and mini-friendships that last only until the discomfort is over. They’re pretty cool, though — interactions that wouldn’t happen if you weren’t standing together all night.
During an experience standing in line at a big box store, people held each other’s places in line while folks scurried over to the nearby Starbucks for some liquid heat. It was capitalism, sure, but for the most part everyone tried to share holiday spirit. Or spirits. I suspect coffee wasn’t the only drink warming people’s hearts.
I wish I could go back, even just one more time, to those warm Thanksgivings when my parents were alive, when my family was together, when everything seemed safe and stolid and forever. I’d trade that Spider-Man DVD set I stood in line to buy at a big box store years ago and everything else I’ve ever purchased for a chance to live one of those Thanksgivings again.
Maybe I will take part in Black Friday, after all. I don’t have to buy anything. I can just stand in line, talking to people I wouldn’t otherwise meet. You hold my place. I’ll go get the coffee.