Thanksgiving: A day of food, football and fabrication

Thanksgiving is our second-most conflicted holiday, behind only Memorial Day, when we somberly honor those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for our country by pounding 24-ouncers at the backyard barbecue celebrating the three-day weekend.

On Thanksgiving, we humbly express our gratitude for the mashed potatoes, green beans, turkey and pie we’re about to eat, then rush to the stores and bodycheck an 84-year-old grandmother into the dress rack to be first in line for the latest hot, new gizmo.

That process used to start in the wee hours of the morning after Thanksgiving, making for a unique tradition. But, the numbers crunchers figured out they could squeeze more profits if they just started the Christmas shopping period on Thanksgiving Day.

And lately, Thanksgiving has become a day when we awkwardly try to avoid talking politics with relatives who only come over for the holidays.

Thanksgiving revolves around food and football – two of my favorites. When I was a kid, it was a big deal to get football games on a Thursday. By halftime we were usually out in the front yard with neighborhood friends playing our own game.

Despite the commercialization, I do think there is value to having one day a year when we take a moment to give thanks. It can be to a deity. Or it can be gratitude for the friends, family, pets, neighbors and activities that bring us joy.

It doesn’t have to be a big, public statement. The most impactful moments usually come in private reflection. There is much to be gained by focusing more on what we are grateful for and less on what we resent.

It’s not just the commercialization that makes Thanksgiving so conflicted, it’s also the origin story – that European explorers were warmly welcomed by native inhabitants who had lived here for centuries. The natives willingly shared their food in a grand feast, then taught the newcomers how to survive in this new land.

It’s a wonderful story that is retold every year in school plays throughout the country. The pilgrims wear funny hats with a buckle on the front. They are greeted by natives dressed as savages. First there is the handshake and then they settle down for the feast.

For most of my life, I thought that was how it happened. It wasn’t just the school plays. My history textbooks also glossed over the violence that accompanied the “settling” of lands that were already occupied. I remember reading a lot about “Custer’s last stand.”  I don’t remember reading anything about the attack he led in 1868 against Chief Black Kettle and a village of peaceful Cheyenne Indians living along the Washita River in what is now Oklahoma. More than 100 were slaughtered in the massacre.

We know the truth. This isn’t ancient history. Hundreds of historians have fully documented the many atrocities that accompanied the takeover by European settlers who arrived with superior weaponry, not to mention all kinds of germs and viruses that natives had no immunity to. But we choose to tell the lie.

Our refusal to accept the truth has had a lasting impact on Native Americans that continues to this day.

And so, I’m conflicted. I’m going to stuff myself, then fall asleep on the couch while watching football, like I always do. And I am going to take a moment to give thanks.

I just wish we’d stop lying to ourselves.

Walter Rubel can be reached at waltrubel@gmail.com