blood ties

Thanksgiving...

It's that all-American establishment promoting gluttony and excess, antiquated in a time of expansive obesity and gross impoverishment. Few really need to bulk up for the winter months ahead like bears preparing for their hibernation. We gorge ourselves silly on starches, sweets, and overstuffed meat. We pick, nibble, and grind on our bonus guest who clearly didn't RSVP in time to get a place setting. The tryptophan stands as both the perfect punishment for fowl consumption and necessary panacea for long periods with one's family. The loopy relaxation works well with families like mine whose sharp edges are concealed just under the surface of a veneer created from years and years of ritualistic tolerance and civility.

I went into the holiday hoping to see things with the theoretical new eyes I've been adjusting to for the past month or so, perhaps looking forward to some new wrinkle or alteration only visible through these other lenses. Mostly things were the same as usual, with everyone fulfilling their expected role, hitting their mark at the right beat like a stale performance in a long-running play. The first bite of cooled-off food followed grace, a blessing offered to "their" God, with the predictable pre-meal jab toward my deference. They always try to point out that I'm different in their under-handed fashion, this time expecting that I have something to say that goes with this particular holiday, as if I must be a member of some cult who has a special chant to open the official turkey slaughter day.

Sure, the day was predictable. There's a known significance to sharing a meal with someone. This common experience often creates an attachment and bonding. With my family I see things differently. There's an awkwardness and discomfort associated with the fancy dining room table, the cloth, the candles, and the wine glasses. These are traditional notions from etiquette guides and long-passed eras that tense my shoulder muscles and tighten my belly to the point of hearing nothing but the clink of silverware to china and incite fear of the incidental table cloth tuck where a napkin should be.



I often find family gatherings to be forced, uncomfortable, and out of place amongst a year of spending most waking hours and evening feasts with so many others. It's strange that we go back to give thanks with the nuclear unit in a world with so many new meanings for the word community and family. Leaving the fold and seeing a world outside of the traditional family construct I grew up with has slowly eroded my perception of that as the end all and be all.