Thanksgiving a Humbug?

Do you remember when Thanksgiving used to be about gorging yourself on various tuber products and force-fed turkey? Or what about your Uncle Dave throwing back one or four too many glasses of wine? What about all of those nice fall color schemes in your house that you finally get to show off to your in-laws? Heck, we’ll even throw in some buckled hat pilgrims eating dinner with the Wampanoag in there if that helps get the spirit of Thanksgiving across. It doesn’t seem that long ago that people were so revved up about getting their double portion of turkey that they weren’t all too concerned with the culture of the market going on around them. But in this year, this the week of Thanksgiving, I have heard more complaints than thanks being offered. So buckle up, you chowderheads, this is going to be a bumpy ride.

I suppose it is true that Christmas seems to be coming quicker and quicker every year. People have been asking me, indignation on their faces, what I think about people already playing Christmas songs or (heaven forbid) purchasing Christmas trees? What is the correct date to begin celebrating Christmas?

I have, more than a little coyly, deferred to Dickens’ A Christmas Carol and wanting to keep Christmas alive in my heart year round as Scrooge had after his conversion, “and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that truly be said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!” But people usually give me an exasperated sigh and say something to the affect of: “So you’re one of those people.”

Granted, the majority of complaints I receive from people about Christmas season are commercial ones. I’ve heard from folks that storefronts had barely taken down Halloween decorations before the Christmas ones were popping up. I can appreciate these concerns, I really can – they do seem to be signs of a further commoditization of Christmas (and all other holidays), but I wonder if Thanksgiving really cares about the face time. Do there need to be giant pilgrims and smiling turkeys in our stores to usher in the holiday cheer?

What Hand Turkeys have to do with Thanksgiving, I don't know... But they do.

However, I didn’t want to leave all of you dear readers debating the validity of this line of thinking, so I decided to invent a time machine and go back to the first Thanksgiving at Plymouth (not Berkeley) and partake in their merriment.

And so with the handy pilgrim costume I always keep on hand, I was in my time machine and rushing back to 1621. I arrived to the smell of fresh baked rolls and cooking duck and the sight of a child chasing a dog through a vegetable garden and her mother scolding close behind.

"The First Thanksgiving", painted by Jean Leon Gerome Ferris

I tried to hide in the margins (something I picked up from being a wallflower back in High School) but these kind people pulled me into tumult of their celebration. We feasted and laughed for hours, only taking breaks from our eating long enough to either go for what they called “walks to get gut a’circulating” or sweep the children up into our arms and set them upon our knees so they could recount their latest adventure.

The party was going on without a hitch, but I could tell that there was something missing… Dancing! These Pilgrims weren’t dancing! Now, I should have remembered from my history books that Protestants were not the biggest fans of dancing back in the Seventeenth Century, but I had maybe thrown back a little bit too much mead to consider that at the moment. I eventually swaggered over to the cutest bonneted lady I’d ever seen and took her by the hand. At first the dancing was a little strained, but she quickly took to it. There were a few frowns from on-lookers, but the Wampanoag began howling with laughter and a few of the tribe’s youth came to join us. Eventually the Pilgrims’ eyes began to soften and slowly but surely they joined us in the most ruckus Pilgrim Dance Party America had ever experienced.

Dancing continued until the early hours of the morning when we all collapsed in fits of laughter and Tryptophan induced comas. This truly was a Thanksgiving to be thankful for.

But then the unthinkable happened.

There was an unearthly scream that jarred us all awake. Little Alverice was gone but we could hear him crying. Without considering the danger we might be thrusting ourselves into, I rallied the Pilgrims and Wampanoag behind me and we charged into the wilderness after the lost lad.

A cool mist had settled low to the ground, making it impossible to see what we where stepping upon. Without warning Jonathan the carpenter was grabbed by something and sucked down bellow the fog. We jumped back instinctively, but after taking hold of my senses, I leapt into the fray. If I can fight giant spiders and vampires, I was ready to take on whatever this foe may be.

As I dove into the mist, a claw slapped me across my chest and I was lifted back into the air and collided with my companions.

The beast rose to its full height, towering above us. A werewolf. In that moment I knew that my former roommate Jordan was right in his speculation that Squanto had indeed been a werewolf.

Fortunately I always carry a silver knife on my person for such occasions. I once again charged the beast and threw myself into its torso. Fighting off a barraged of clawed blows, I climbed up its body, clutching tightly to clumps of its fur. Eventually I reached its chest, and after drawing my blade I smote it thus. The monster collapsed to the ground and was metamorphed back into the former British slave, Squanto.

After we returned to camp and nursed Jonathan back to health and returned young Alverice to his mother, the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag asked me if I would stay with them and help them build a new utopian society – they asked if I could lead them as their king. I told them that I needed to return to my own time and set a few things straight about this whole Thanksgiving business. They didn’t really understand what I was talking about, but there was not a dry eye among the lot of them.

And so my dear readers, I have returned to you in order to level this argument: Thanksgiving is about family and friends and an inordinate amount of food. Let’s try to keep Thanksgiving as uncommercialized as possible. And let us keep Christmas in our hearts year round.

I’m not really sure how that last one slipped in there.