At Thanksgiving this year, I am even grateful for the other side
If you’re going to brave Thanksgiving this year, chances are, you might end up seated next to the opposition. As everyone assumes their socially distanced position, here are some pointers to get you through a potentially tricky meal.
My first recommendation is not to worry. Misery loves company, so rest assured! Many of us will spar with relatives who voted for the other side, while we sip spiked eggnog and resist the urge to wave the carving knives while making a point.
Once again, do not fret. Should you find yourself fuming and wanting to wreak havoc with a serving spoon, why don’t you try this time-tested, lawyer endorsed strategy? Take a breath and just delay. Put down the utensils. Offer someone a bread roll while you admire the embroidered tablecloth. This brief pause will allow you to gather your thoughts and diffuse any tension as you try to find common ground. But where to start?
“I just love mashed potatoes, don’t you?” is a good one.
Then, there’s the timeless, “I hope I don’t eat too much this year.”
Using the pronoun, ‘I’ instead of ‘you’ is a friendly, open invitation to share mutual enthusiasms for vegetables and eating. Fun topics which remove any animus for those whose politics differ from yours. Indeed, holiday dishes are so easy, they’re topics everyone can agree on!
But, lest one stand accused of seeing Thanksgiving through rose tinted lenses, it’s worth noting the first Thanksgiving in 1620 was not a celebration, but rather, an uneasy alliance. It was followed by decades of increasingly strained relations caused by colonial expansion, epidemic disease, and the squandering of natural resources. By 1670, the Native Americans and colonialists were embroiled in a devastating war. At its conclusion, the surviving Native Americans were sold into slavery or indentured servitude. Cut to the eighteenth century, when a group of descendants from Plymouth, who were eager to drum up some tourism for the region, reshaped the story, the dinner and the indigenous peoples’ reaction to the theft of their land.
Over the years, the idea took wing until it became the fondest wish of Mrs. Sarah Josepha Hale. Mrs. Hale was the editor of Godey’s Lady’s Book, which at the time, was the most popular magazine in America. Ah yes, the power of the media! She envisioned a national Thanksgiving and petitioned those in charge over a thirty year period.
Finally, In 1863, ten months following the Emancipation Proclamation, Abraham Lincoln proclaimed Thanksgiving a holiday to be observed by all Americans everywhere, to comfort those “sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and … to heal the wounds of the nation.” One hundred and fifty years later, the disconnect is now more pervasive than ever.
And now, even with the pandemic and the politics forcing us apart, we need to come together.
On Thanksgiving four years ago, after the turkey, but before the dessert, my youngest found me in the kitchen. Thankfully, he was not wearing his MAGA hat at the time.
“What do you think about the election?” He asked, beaming as things had clearly gone his way. In response, I spied an empty bag on the counter, scooped some air into it, and popped it. Violently, so that it sounded like a balloon. He was shocked and it made him jump.
Before 2016, I had loved debating with him. We differ on everything, but we both enjoyed lively discourse. Sparring brought us together, airing ideas, struggling to find a consensus. Then, after the last election, we just stopped talking. At least about anything more substantive than vegetables. After all, debating is one thing, arguing is another. Too much polarization and all you’ve got left is discord.
And we are still family! This year he voted for the opposition, but I was proud that he should be engaged in the process and voting at all. And now, here we are. The country is divided. A few days ago, my son said, “I like Trump. But the election is the beauty of the system, and he didn’t get the votes. Now all we’ll remember him for is being a crybaby.”
I imagine sitting at the table, our voices raised in lively discussion. We might even debate the idea of reconciliation, on a national level. But I don’t want to push it. Perhaps it’s better to stick to small talk about food and the dessert. The rest of it could still result in a bad case of heartburn.
