It’s two days until Thanksgiving. You know what that means … Photos of families and turkey dinners with #blessed and #grateful will soon fill our social feeds.
I, for one, will not be partaking in this ritual for a few reasons:
First, we all eat the same thing. You don’t need to see pictures of my food photos when it looks just like yours. It’s not like you can taste it.
Second, getting my husband and sons to pose for a photo is usually a challenge. And while I do feel #blessed and #grateful, I also know I’ll be #tired and #pissedoff at some point in the day. Not exactly the right vibe for forcing a family photo.
And third, we won’t be a big group. Thanksgiving this year, like last, will be just us 4 Tarrs. My parents will be with my sister on Long Island, since they leave nearby. We, however, live three hours away—five on Thanksgiving, the worst travel day of the year. We are not joining them because I don’t want to sit in five hours of traffic. It makes me bitter and grumpy. No one likes me grumpy. I don’t like me grumpy. So it’s better we stay home.
The truth is, I don’t think anyone is really celebrating English colonizers and the fall harvest, as intended. At least I know we’re not. And who says we have to celebrate on the assigned day? F* that. Thanksgiving is really just a day to share a meal with family. We can do that the next day, when the roads aren’t as crowded and I won’t be as grumpy.
So that’s our plan … Bringing Philly cheesesteaks to Long Island the day after Thanksgiving to not celebrate the holiday together. I like it, and I think I may have just created a new family tradition.
However you celebrate—or don’t … Happy Thursday to you and yours.
—LJDT
