How to celebrate Thanksgiving – without mentioning Trump
This Thanksgiving, plan on observing a day of silence – Trump silence. Try to enjoy this day of togetherness and gratitude without uttering the name of the 45th president. Ask your friends and family attending your Thanksgiving Day dinner to honor your plan.
We understand that this will not be easy. And so we have prepared a list of FAQs to help prepare you and yours for a day of Trump silence.
How should we begin the meal? Traditionally, many families take a moment before the meal begins to say grace or recite a short prayer of thanks. This year, in lieu of those blessings we recommend that all present repeat the following together:
To save this turkey day from violence We hereby take this vow of silence. We will express our gratitude In bland and empty platitude. I pledge allegiance to the bird
And promise not to say T-word.
I like the idea, but a full day? I don’t think I can do it. Frankly, it seems impossible.
This is a common sentiment. We recognize that not everyone will be able to go an entire day. For guests at your meal who feel they must talk about Trump, we recommend they pretend to be smokers, step outside, and furiously shout to themselves until they feel they can return to the table. You might also encourage them to call an MSNBC emergency Trump hotline where they can bark expletives for a small fee. They can return once they have recovered their composure.
What can we talk about, then?
This, too, is a common question. But recall, there are many things to talk about besides Trump. You can use this as a chance to ask your children about their education or lives in general; to discuss recent breakthroughs in phyllotaxis, the study of mathematical patterns in plant life; to compare with friends how many cups of coffee you drink in a day, and when in the day you drink them. The topics are virtually limitless.
Is it OK to at least talk about what a loathsome, boot-licking toady Devin Nunes is?
We think not. Remember, this may seem like a point of universal agreement, but ol’ Uncle Ernie, with his aluminum foil hat, may feel differently!
Can we still serve our peach-mint jelly?
This is a difficult one. However innocent your intent, we do worry that in a “divided” household, this may come across as a subtle but unmistakable provocation. We would urge you, maybe for just this year, to stick with the cranberry sauce. Similarly, under no circumstances should you consider swapping the traditional turkey main course for chicken kiev.
What about the story of Thanksgiving?
Tread carefully here. Be careful not to deviate from the script of Pilgrims celebrating their survival in Plymouth with their Native American frenemies. By no means allow this to slip into a tale of heavily armed white supremacists stealing food from the undocumented ancestors of Elizabeth Warren. Consider skipping the Thanksgiving story altogether; try telling a heart-warming Hanukah tale instead.
What if, during dessert, a guest suddenly blurts out: ‘He could win in 2020!! WHAT THEN???’
This is bound to happen. Preparation is the key. Not responding is the first step. We recommend then gently escorting your guest to a quiet room in the house. Give them time for a good cry and several minutes of deep, clearing breaths. Should the episode repeat, we suggest discreetly wrapping your guest’s head with duct tape.
I receive notifications of the president’s tweets on my iPhone. What if in the middle of our meal, I see that he has tweeted a fresh outrage against basic human decency and the precepts of constitutional governance? Can I at least mime this to others at the table?
Yes, of course. After all, we must be realistic about what we’re asking of people.
Lawrence Douglas is the James J Grosfeld professor of law, jurisprudence and social thought, at Amherst College, Massachusetts. He is also a contributing opinion writer for Guardian US. Nancy Pick is a writer based in western Massachusetts
talking to like a teenager – much less wake the next morning, turn over, and resume the conversation. My boyfriend has been a calming, extremely supportive presence in my life, a nice surprise after spending my 30s relatively single.
Society pressures women to have children, and doing so at a young age can mean we miss out on becoming the women we are meant to be. Sometimes we buck the trend at the expense of our own fertility and panic at the gamble.
I have spent my entire adult life preparing to be a mum. I spent a decade in therapy unraveling the damage instilled by my parents. I progressed my career; advanced my education; traveled and worked across the globe; crawled my way out of debt – all so I would have zero regrets about being a mother and feel as self-actualized as possible before taking on the responsibility of creating and rearing another human.
I wasn’t going to depend on a relationship to become a mother. Many women have come to single motherhood through various means, and I am grateful for the women who have paved the way, often times unwittingly, for this to become an intended option.
I’ve spent the past year undergoing fertility tests and was encouraged to learn that I still – much to the surprise of my doctors - have a relatively high ovarian reserve. I hit the gym to prepare my body for pregnancy, completed required education modules for IVF and sperm donation, and read articles from women who conceived using a donor.
Once I received British citizenship, I knew being a single mother would be more of an option for me, if not the only option. Generally speaking, life in Scotland is less stressful than in the US and there is more government support for would-be mothers. There is maternity leave and maternity cover to guarantee your job, and there are child benefits. Public school starts earlier. None of these advantages completely alleviate the difficulties of parenting, but they provide a better foundation. I couldn’t see myself having a child in the States, through any means.
Scotland also offers more choices for how I could become a parent: adoption is based on a comprehensive assessment of a potential guardian. Single women are not precluded nor is there an upper age limit. In fact, you don’t even have to own your own home, and you legally cannot be charged adoption fees. Government-funded IVF treatment does have criteria, but privately funded IVF treatment is slightly cheaper than in the US. Although adoption through fostering is not readily encouraged, it is not impossible. As soon as I received my citizenship, I felt a slight ease of this biological pressure women who want to be mothers face. I could take a beat and not make a decision motivated by pure panic.
My boyfriend and I are at a crucial phase in our new relationship: dating less than a year and approaching the holidays. It’s usually this time when couples decide if the romance is viable enough to continue.
I don’t take my partner’s decision on children personally or lightly. It has absolutely nothing to do with me, nor does it represent his feelings for me, and I respect that he did not acquiesce to his previous partners. Still, even if he were onboard with having children, I’m not willing to rush a relationship because I’m bound to a biological timeline. Nor am I willing to forgo birth control and “accidentally” fall pregnant. I have seen the effects a “surprise” pregnancy has on a man. My IUD remains intact. Even if I wanted to push him for a biological child, given our age, a pregnancy would take a concerted, nodoubt, medical effort with mutual consent.
I adore this man, and despite his Darcy-like ways, I happily fling myself against his wall of English reserve: smiling at his grumpiness, attracted to his stoicism. I do believe I am seeing him for who he is. He is an extremely generous and kind person. I have watched the eyes of men I’ve dated before glaze over as I spoke of my dreams and goals. My guy, secure in his own education, experience and career, is not only engaged, he comes equipped with ideas and encouragement to move me forward. He’s the type to take a day off work to attend a conference at which I nervously presented; to pay for the repair of a ring, the last gift from my grandparents, so I could wear it to my citizenship ceremony.
He is a sensitive spirit, and I am so grateful to have him in my life, given my pained dating history. Because of this, he is getting the best of me. One night, fresh out of a bath he had drawn for me, belly full from a home cooked meal he had prepared, as he was editing an article I had written, I realized: I am in the relationship I’ve always wanted. He would have to do something particularly cruel for me to not want to see this to its potential.
What’s even more frustrating is that he is naturally great with kids and would make an amazing father. At 41, I have found a man who comes close to everything I’ve realistically wanted. If he were it all, then he would be perfect. And you and I both know perfect doesn’t exist. Given that, it’s actually not that surprising he doesn’t want kids. There had to be something, amirite? The more I fall for him, the more I know my urge to have “a baby” will become a desire to have “his baby”.
But my boyfriend doesn’t want children, and I have to respect that. However, I will not forgo my chances at motherhood to appease him or maintain our relationship. And that is a decision I do hope he chooses to support.
Lynda-Marie Taurasi is a Scottish American writer living in Edinburgh
If he were it all, then he would be perfect. And you and I both know perfect doesn’t exist