Thoughts on Thanksgiving

Turkey day, a grand American holiday in need of a makeover. More respected than any civic holiday, more meaningful than most religious holidays, and more connected to the spirit of charity and kindness to make any American proud! So why has Thanksgiving become the red-headed step child of American holidays? I don't know, but it pisses me off.

 
Powered by corporate greed, Thanksgiving has been nearly bitch-slapped off the calendar. Walk into any retailer and you will notice the seasonal aisle goes from Halloween to Christmas. And lately, I get nauseous hearing the first Xmas song played weeks before Turkey Day. This year it took only ONE day after Halloween before I saw the first television commercial for Xmas bargains. As annoyed as I was, I wonder how irritating the commercials must be to non-Christians. Thank you Wal Mart.
 
Come to think of it, there are many reasons our great holiday has fallen out of favor. I don't think any are convincing, but as a whole, there are arguments in favor of the makeover.
 
For one, the great sports celebration of American football has diminished. The family sports tradition has become an event where players who do NOT participate have become more significant than the ones that do. I’m unaware why the Detroit Lions must play every year, but the games have generally sucked too.
 
As a child, with only seven TV channel choices, my family looked forward to watching King Kong and Mighty Joe Young every year. I have no idea why that tradition existed, but claymation gorillas were far more entertaining than the helmeted, drugged up, overpaid and undereducated gorillas we have to endure on television today. Fortunately, thanks to cable television, a recent tradition of broadcasting the 'Godfather' trilogy has taken place, though I do not see themes of American thankfulness projected there either.
 
Our culinary tastes have also evolved since the 1600's. While it’s a noble gesture to enjoy chestnuts and porridge, these items are not sold at Starbucks, McDonald’s, or even Costco. (But I can purchase the Stone Temple Pilot's Christmas cd at most of the aforementioned locations.) Quail and wild berries don't even look good on Iron Chef, and Grandma's stuffing recipe just isn't satisfying the native people any longer. The turkey deep fryer really hasn't qualified as a makeover either, but we are on our way.
 
Another reason the meaning of Thanksgiving has been diluted is due to the lack of reasons to gather with family. Let's face it, most American families today divide their holiday time between in-laws, outlaws, step children, ex-spouses, and new faces due to our revolving-door family units. Just having the family patriarch carve the turkey isn't so special anymore. Today, the famous Norman Rockwell painting wouldn’t be complete without dad's new wife and her illegitimate child at the table, along with his facially pierced daughter from his first marriage seen center frame updating her instagram status and wearing headphones. Whether you agree or not, things certainly ARE different, and everyone finds different meaning in disjointed ways. And despite Governor Mario "Covid" Cuomo's spying black eye in holiday history, I'm still thankful for many things. 
 
I'm thankful to have experienced different chapters of American culture. Without which, nostalgia and introspection would have less meaning. Reflection increases the human spirit and CAN lead to improved ways of living, so long as one doesn't have an aneurysm. 
 
I am forever grateful for the 1970 Stephen Stills song, "Love the one you're with." and my oral fixation. After a wonderful Thanksgiving meal in the early 1990's, I elected to drive my Step Brother home to the West Village in my father's Pontiac Grand Am. While driving past the famous Tower Records mega store and knowing it to be open every day 'till midnight, I pulled over to search the late night bins in search of the vinyl record. To this day, I still keep notes of songs to purchase.
 
Thankful for vision, I still cannot walk into a music store without dedicating at least an hour. (One of the pleasant experiences technology is rendering obsolete.) Eager to get home and spin the record, (which I still own) I hustled through the cold air and tried to start Dad's car, but it would not turn over. Stepping out onto Broadway, I noticed a huge puddle of oil under the car and traced it back to a small hole in the oil pan. Thankfully, as gas stations in Manhattan are as rare as hen's nuts, a nearby station hooked me up with a few quarts, and my mouthful of gum plugged the hole all the way to Coney Island, thereby saving the engine from ceasing. Had I not stopped that thankful evening, I'm sure my heavy foot would have ceased that engine on the Brooklyn-Queens expressway.
 
Today, I am forever thankful to drive a Jeep. That small vehicle has paid for itself in New York City parking alone. One Thanksgiving Eve around Y2K, I was lucky enough to have off for the biggest party night of the year. While I bounced around the bars of Bay Ridge, other rookies I worked with weren't so lucky. Right in front of Lily's bar, I squeezed the truck between two parked cars at metered spots, and marched inside with some extra holiday cheer. After closing, when the Irish staff pushed a hundred revelers into the dawn's early light, so proudly we hailed my Jeep, wrapped in 10 layers of crime scene tape.
 
Twisted around my bumpers, mirrors, antenna, and spare back tire, the truck was bound so tightly that I could not easily open the door or remove the tape without a knife. So I didn't. I simply drove home as it slowly unflapped in the parkway winds. I am thankful that many millions of fewer cell phones were activated then. I would hate to see how that car stop would transpire today.
 
Finally, I am thankful for a career in public service. A few years later, I was driving a police van around the same streets- this time not so lucky to have off Thanksgiving Eve. Stuck working late, and down the block from that same popular bar, I noticed a street full of drunken women stumbling around looking confused and cold. I knew they were looking for a misplaced auto, but I was eager to hear the lie. (As a person who gets lied to professionally, I'm always excited to spot the lie. The bullshit I've been told over the years is a story itself, and I firmly believe this makes cops better poker players too.)

 
"Our friend dropped us off at the bar because it was cold, then parked the car without us. She gave us the keys and left with a guy, but didn't tell us where the car was." They said they were all from Staten Island and couldn't get home easily. This sounded plausible. "Get in the van," I said, "We'll help you find it." 

During the next five minutes of small talk I quickly surmised that the smartest chick in the group was the busty redhead. 

"So what's your story?" I asked aloud speaking into the rear view mirror.
"I'm house-sitting chickens for my friend for the holiday weekend," Mary said.
Then I KNEW they could only be from Staten Island. I deposited them at their car, and blessed the ladies for their journey. Thankfully, Mary and I have been friends ever since.riends ever since.