There are some who passionately believe that it’s their duty to ruin Thanksgiving. It used to be that they were duty-bound as allies to inform their less-woke relatives at the table of how privileged they are and wrong about everything. It now includes the duty to inform them of their complicity in genocide, ethnic cleansing, stolen land and colonization, demanding the right to acknowledge that the land upon which their table sits once belonged to others from whom it was stolen.
Screw that. History is replete with people doing bad stuff to other people, and good stuff too, though it’s never good enough to match up, no less overtake, the bad. But we can’t change history, good or bad. We can only do better ourselves, and one very important way to do so is to be appreciative of what we have, family, friends and the opportunity to tell them how thankful we are.
And that’s what my Thanksgiving is going to be about. If misery is your gig, go for it. If you think ruining other people’s Thanksgiving is going to make anyone want to join you in wallowing in misery, you’re likely to be very disappointed. And they will be disappointed in you, no matter how hip you feel about yourself. There will be someone at the table who is not thankful, unappreciative, and it will not be crazy Aunt Agnes or mean Uncle Tom.
Thank you, readers of SJ. Thank you my cultural ninjas, Howl and Guitar Dave. Thank you, commenters, even the ones who make my head hurt. Thank you, supporters who hit the tip cup to keep this hotel open. And a special thank you to Beth, whose Herculean efforts save me from my errorist ways. Together, we make SJ happen.
If you can’t find it within you to feel love and joy for your loved ones, and appreciate the gifts you enjoy, then that’s your choice. I choose to be thankful. I hope you will too. Happy Thanksgiving.