There are some who give a too literal definition of the Thanksgiving Ritual; for some it is a celebration of of life in the so-called New World, for others, it is a painful recollection of stolen dreams and vivid nightmares glossed over by images of black-hatted Puritans pushing ever westward towards the final conquest of a continent.
I won't try to bridge that divide, I'll leave that to others much more qualified than me to make that argument. My effort today is to give my opinions on what this day means to me and to perhaps other people of color.
I don't believe that any of us have ever bought into the myth that about Plymouth Rock and Squanto of the Patuxet; and while there is a germ of truth in any myth, the reality is usually much different. I understand that we have all participated either as children or as parents in the ubiquitous Thanksgiving plays and activities, but I have to believe that while we smiled for the audiences, we knew that it was not our story.
Our story is much different, it is a story that endures through time, forced labor, discriminatory practices codified as law; and outright hatred on the part of some people in this country.
It endures because we keep out our eyes wide open to the injustices that befall many of those less fortunate, it endures because the basis of our hope lies within our families, families united in and by blood; families we create by choice, and even those parts of our families that at first blush may seem to be in an dysfunctional state.
It endures because it must; we have no choice in that matter, the shoulders we stand on will become the shoulders our children and grandchildren will stand on.
We know that Thanksgiving as an American holiday does not necessarily line up with our reality; but it does give us another reason to gather around people we love and even some we just tolerate, that is what I, and I believe many people of color take away from this last Thursday of November, we may have Turkey or Pernil, we may have have ham, or lamb if we are keeping kosher or halal.
We may be serving Pasteles or Tamales, many of us will watch a game or two on the box pondering whether we should have another helping, while others will be playing flag-football. Some will be celebrating the arrival of a new member of the family, or remembering those who passed before us. Sadly, there will be others who will take that celebratory toast a bit too far and we must find ways to help them find a way out of the morass that is not allowing them to be the best that they can be.
That is what makes the last Thursday in November a day to enjoy, reflect, laugh and sometimes cry; it's part of the whole megilla, el cuento total de nuestras vidas...
