Don't Go Thinking I'm Not Thankful

So I spent yesterday pretending it didn't bother me to be working on Thanksgiving.

Now, some of you may be saying to yourselves, "Self, I seem to remember that this is not Wahooty's first Thanksgiving away from home." And yes, Self, you would be correct. In fact, I haven't been Home for Thanksgiving since 1999. That was a whole 'nother millennium, in fact.

Not spending Thanksgiving with Mom, Dad, and Brother is something I'm used to. I spent 6 of 7 grad-school Thanksgivings (yes, it took me 7 years to get through grad school, thanks for noticing) in Chicago at my aunt's house. They were, quite frankly, the best ones in memory. Not because my brother always fights with my dad or some such stupidity, but because they were the only Big Thanksgivings I ever had. Growing up, Thanksgiving was always just about the four of us. My parents picked up and moved from Illinois to Virginia before I was born because Dad had a good job opportunity. When he got the offer, he came home and asked what Mom thought about Washington.

She lit up, and asked, "Washington state???"

His response: "No. Washington, DC."

Her answer: "Oh. What's there?"

We moved to a Virginia suburb because it was close enough to commute, but far and unfashionable enough to be cheap. We were a one-income, one-child family with another (that would be ME!!!) on the way, after all.

Sacrifices were made - my dad gave up stars, and wide open spaces, and weather, while my mom gave up Chicago - but my parents quickly fell in love with Virginia and I managed to grow up thinking it was the greatest place on earth, even though it wasn't my parents' homeland. But one of the sacrifices they rarely talk about is that of family - I happen to believe because it was the hardest one to make, and one that they often wondered whether it was worth what they got in return. Growing up, we didn't take family vacations to the Grand Canyon or whatever - our big family vacation was a 2-week period every summer, where we spent one week on the farm in Illinois with Dad's parents, and one week on the lake in Wisconsin with Mom's. It was the only time of the year we saw them. Now that I'm an adult, with a little more perspective on parenting (and, thus, grandparenting), I realize how incredibly difficult that must have been on both sets of grandparents, especially considering that they saw most of their other grandchildren at least a couple of times a year. But, you do what you gotta do. Virginia's my home, and I am so grateful to my parents for finding it for me.

When I went to grad school, and people found out where I was from, many people asked, "Why did you come here?" Not because they knew how fantastic Virginia is, but because they couldn't understand why anyone would make a conscious decision to move to Indiana.

Fair enough.

But as soon as I explained that my parents are both from Illinois, so I had tons of extended family within a couple of hours' drive, it made total sense to them. If that didn't work, it always helped that Purdue has a fantastic reputation in my field, but that's a lot harder to explain to non-chemists. :) But anyway, I always had lots of available places to spend any major holiday when I couldn't afford to go home. Generally, I spent these with Mom's sister in Chicago. Not because I loved her more than anyone else, but rather because she was usually the only true invitation. Sure, I could call up any number of people and say, "Hey, I don't have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving/Easter/Kwanzaa...can I come over?" But you always feel more welcome and wanted when someone takes the time to invite you. And just between us, given the option, I will almost always spend a holiday alone rather than invite myself over to someone else's celebration. That's just how this bitch rolls.

The group in Chicago varied from year to year. Certain people were staples: my aunt and uncle (obviously), the single cousins who didn't have in-laws battling it out for our time, and our Uncle Snort who (bless his heart) always has been and always will be single. Out of the three children of the aunt in question, the single one would always be there, his twin brother would be there roughly every other year (but when he was there he brought a wife and kids, which doubled the pleasure so you know...law of averages), and every once in a while his younger brother from Far-Off-Place would make it up. Being Perpetually Uncommitted, I was always there, as was Baby Cousin (the youngest of the 11 cousins and also PU). Baby Cousin's dad sometimes came. Baby Cousin's older brother always came with Girlfriend-Then-Wife in tow for dessert. Well before they got married, they established a tradition of dinner with Her family, then dessert and boardgames with ours. She once told me that, upon getting into the car to leave Her parents' house, she said to Him, "Thank God we're going to hang out with your family so I can be myself."

Regardless of who exactly showed up, it was always a Big Thanksgiving. In our house growing up, the maximum number of family was 4. We never had more, because there were no trips to Grandma's house or family coming over with pies in hand. We spent a couple of years sharing Thanksgiving dinner with a family of close friends, which I remember quite fondly, but never the busy household of guests coming and going and flurry of cooking activity. It was always a warm, but well-organized and low-key holiday, whereas those Chicago Thanksgivings were events...there were things to help with, and wines to bring, and sitting around the kitchen table on Wednesday night tearing up bread so it could dry out for the stuffing and the parade on in the background the next morning while we sent my uncle out for last-minute groceries which would take an hour to get even though the grocery store was only 5 minutes away but dammit, we just don't have enough poultry seasoning and wait, Aunt HAS to see the Rockettes perform, it's the only reason she even watches the parade anymore...

I think, at this point, we have ventured into the aspect of the holiday that Canadians just don't get.

They have Thanksgiving. It happened over a month ago. They eat turkey. And stuffing. And cranberries, pumpkin pie, sweet potatoes. All of those things that are associated with the autumn harvest in North America, just like we do. But I get the distinct impression that it just isn't as much of an Event as it is for us. Part of it has to do with the timing - for Americans, Thanksgiving pretty much means fall is over, and it's now Christmas time. That is pretty momentous. Also, the fact that it's a Monday for them and a Thursday for us makes a difference. They will have Thanksgiving dinner at some point during a 3-day weekend. Thanksgiving Day is immediately followed by a workday, so people do dinner when they can get everyone together, yadda yadda. Our Thanksgiving Day is the START of, not a 3-day, but a 4-day weekend. We get all of the work done the first day, then have 3 days of turkey sandwich coma, vegetative states, and football ahead of us. It is a wonderful time of relaxation and family and (if you're so inclined) early Christmas shopping at unbelievably low prices. Just about anyone can find something to love about that 4-day period.

Canadians also don't have the Friday After Thanksgiving Phenomenon, or FATPh. The FATPh is, as follows:
1. You have slept off the turkey coma.
2. You now have a full day ahead of you that you would normally have to spend working.
3. You spend this day either sleeping off the tryptophan or attending doorbuster sales.
The sun sets.
5. You have a ridiculous amount of energy due to excessive amounts of poultry-induced slumber or heady sudden-cash-expenditure rush, respectively.
6. All of your old high school friends are in town because of big family holiday.
7. Clearly, there is no better time for getting shitfaced.

My cousins and I planned 7 years' worth of fantastic group vacations via drunken FATP outings. I still remember how the first one went. It was my second year of grad school. None of my cousins had spent much time together since we were kids. We had always enjoyed hanging out growing up, but when you see people once every 2-3 years growing up, you don't have a lot to base an adult friendship on. The first year I went to Chicago, we had Thanksgiving dinner. It was nice...generally polite and a little distant. We were hanging out that night, and my two single boy cousins had been chatting, and one says, "hey, you wanna come out downtown with us tomorrow night?" This is the cousin who is a year younger than I, so he was 22 and in his first-year-out-of-college-in-the-big-city phase.

The following night was the single best bonding experience I think I have ever had with anyone. The three of us are still kind of the core of all of the cousins' goings-on. We fuckin' rule. And all thanks to a few hours in downtown Chicago on the Friday After Thanksgiving.

A sample of how these things go:

7:00 pm: Order pizza. Mantra of young boys who actually live downtown: "Where are we going tonight? Dude. We're NOT going to Beaumont's. No matter what. That place...dude, we're NOT going to Beaumont's."
10:00 pm: Go to nice bar. Good beer, bar full of baby yuppies and their high school friends. Have good time until nice bar closes at 2.
1:55 am: "Dude, what are we doing now?" "WE'RE GOIN' TO BEAUMONT'S!!!"

The following year, my cousin's (now) wife said, "Not only did we GO to Beaumon'ts...we actually CLOSED Beaumont's..."

And you know the best part? YOU DON'T HAVE TO DRIVE BACK HOME THE NEXT DAY. You have a FULL Saturday to nurse your hangover before you drive home on Sunday!!!! It is the ONLY night of the year that you have that kind of freedom unless you're on vacation, and ALL of your friends have it with you!

All of this is what makes Thanksgiving for me. The big family gathering, the comings and goings, the turkey coma, the getting shitfaced the next night, the hungover, worthless Saturday, the always gracious and delicate extraction of myself for the drive home on Sunday with Christmas music in my CD player while stuck in traffic. These are the things that I was missing while I watched the snow fall from my window at work yesterday. It was the first snow of the season, and all I could think of was that it would have been so nice to be watching that snow fall from my cozy little apartment, with warm cooking smells and the parade on the TV in the background. That's simply how it's supposed to be.

I think next year, I'm taking the day off.