(A truly) Happy Thanksgiving
When I was in sixth grade we were asked to write a paper about our favorite holiday. Choosing Thanksgiving came naturally to me. For one thing, I really appreciated that you didn't have to be a particular religion to celebrate it. Some people who grow up half-Jewish and half-Christian might enjoy celebrating both sets of holidays with their respective families; but since I never felt particularly aligned either way, I usually just felt like an outsider during most holiday gatherings. Using my math, one-half plus one-half equalled something less than zero.
The subject of my paper, though, did not go into the complexities of split religion nor my split family; rather, it focused on the unique atmosphere of New York in November and the comfort it gave me to be there.
Six years younger than my mom, my "Cool Aunt Barbra" lived in Manhattan and would host many Thanksgivings at her apartment there. Among other reasons, Barbra was especially cool because she lived only a few blocks from the Macy's Parade, and every year I would get to go and see the huge balloons, celebrities, and to-do in person. As a child, I realize now, I was incredibly lucky. Not only to be able to go to the Macy's Parade, which some people may never get to experience, but to see it as a child, when it really is glorious and the anticipation just about kills you except that there is so much stimulation you absolutely couldn't die yet!
A good part of my paper tried to capture that sense of anticipation - of trying to fall asleep the night before, to waking up early that morning to get a spot, to walking straight across town thinking, "was the walk this long last time?", to arriving in Times Square and thinking after five minutes, "brr, it's cold... would anyone mind if I said I wanted to go home?" But just then, my mom would buy me some hot chocolate, and I'd be okay again. It was THAT kind of comfort that made Thanksgiving the best holiday.
And funnily enough, when I lived in New York, every November I would get a whiff of the air and be reminded of my childhood Thanksgivings there. It was some combination of the temperature, the air quality, and the smell of the hot dog carts wafting downwind. Even after I had lived there five, six years, and was utterly over the city, I continued to be surprised at the potent, but pleasant, reminder.
As an adult, I'm sure I'd have a different view of those Thanksgivings, and remember the airport hassles, weather problems, city traffic. Hell, these days, you couldn't pay me to fly to New York the day before Thanksgiving, sleep on a pull-out sofa, get up at 7 AM to walk in the cold to the parade, and do it all with a child, no less.
So I am thankful that I will always have those memories of New York, of the holiday, and of my family, before I was old enough to know better. I love you, Thanksgiving. And I love everyone who's reading this for caring. For that I truly am most grateful.
The subject of my paper, though, did not go into the complexities of split religion nor my split family; rather, it focused on the unique atmosphere of New York in November and the comfort it gave me to be there.
Six years younger than my mom, my "Cool Aunt Barbra" lived in Manhattan and would host many Thanksgivings at her apartment there. Among other reasons, Barbra was especially cool because she lived only a few blocks from the Macy's Parade, and every year I would get to go and see the huge balloons, celebrities, and to-do in person. As a child, I realize now, I was incredibly lucky. Not only to be able to go to the Macy's Parade, which some people may never get to experience, but to see it as a child, when it really is glorious and the anticipation just about kills you except that there is so much stimulation you absolutely couldn't die yet!
A good part of my paper tried to capture that sense of anticipation - of trying to fall asleep the night before, to waking up early that morning to get a spot, to walking straight across town thinking, "was the walk this long last time?", to arriving in Times Square and thinking after five minutes, "brr, it's cold... would anyone mind if I said I wanted to go home?" But just then, my mom would buy me some hot chocolate, and I'd be okay again. It was THAT kind of comfort that made Thanksgiving the best holiday.
And funnily enough, when I lived in New York, every November I would get a whiff of the air and be reminded of my childhood Thanksgivings there. It was some combination of the temperature, the air quality, and the smell of the hot dog carts wafting downwind. Even after I had lived there five, six years, and was utterly over the city, I continued to be surprised at the potent, but pleasant, reminder.
As an adult, I'm sure I'd have a different view of those Thanksgivings, and remember the airport hassles, weather problems, city traffic. Hell, these days, you couldn't pay me to fly to New York the day before Thanksgiving, sleep on a pull-out sofa, get up at 7 AM to walk in the cold to the parade, and do it all with a child, no less.
So I am thankful that I will always have those memories of New York, of the holiday, and of my family, before I was old enough to know better. I love you, Thanksgiving. And I love everyone who's reading this for caring. For that I truly am most grateful.
posted by Lori @ 8:46 PM
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