The Only Thanksgiving that Mattered

I don't remember many Thanksgivings from my childhood. In fact, the earliest Thanksgiving I remember was from freshmen year of college. The plan was to spend Thanksgiving at my sister's place in LA. I was having a hard time reaching my parents and finally when I did, I was informed that I would have to find a way to get to my sister's place since they were taking care of my grandmother in LA and wouldn't be able to swing by to pick me up since they weren't coming from San Diego. I scrambled to find a ride and was finally able to find one via a dorm mate of mine named Fred.

Fred was a foreign exchange student from France but his English was pretty good despite his accent. Fred was studying music at school, I often would seem him playing the piano in the dorm. He was also a Rastafarian so he, his room, and his car always reeked of weed. There was also the one time where he tried to fit himself into the dorm fridge, but I think that was a result of alcohol, not marijuana. I liked Fred a lot and we got along really well, he and his friend once opened a show I was playing by rapping in French. Having previously established a friendship prevented the following conversation from sounding as hostile as it probably reads:

"So Fred, I know you're French, but are you going to celebrate Thanksgiving since you're here in the States?"
"I don't celebrate cultural genocide, man."
"So what are you going to do for the time off?"
"Party. I'm going to LA and I'm going to party."

So, that is the earliest Thanksgiving I remember, and I remember it because of my car ride with Fred, not because of the food or the people I actually spent the day with. Perhaps, that's why, since then, my parents and I have quickly bypassed the traditional turkey meal for whatever we feel like eating that day. We've gone from having Thanksgiving meals with a family of 8 down to a family of 3 since my sisters have married/dispersed throughout the United States.

A couple of years ago, Bruce's mom had a brain aneurysm in the Spring. I remember getting the news from Bruce and then relaying it, first to my mom, and then to all my sisters. The relationship between Bruce's family and my family doesn't end and begin with the boys (Bruce, his brothers and me). Bruce's mom and my mom are very close, my mom says they are "like sisters". On my first trip back to Minnesota in 2004, Bruce's mom welcomed me back by saying that "one of my sons has finally come home" (NOT in reference to the prodigal song story). We're as close to family as can be without actually being related by blood.

This is why, later that year, my parents and I jumped on a plane and flew to Minneapolis to spend Thanksgiving with the Lee's. I was unemployed at the time but that wasn't going to stop me from making the trip. Not to compare my situation with the level of tragedy that Bruce's family was facing, but I must say it had been a pretty crappy year for me as well. I lost my job and got out of a long-term relationship in a 48 hour span. I wouldn't say I was really stressed out at the time, but just being in Minneapolis helped put my mind at ease and helped me focus on what was more important, and that was being there for Bruce and his family.

We kept our visit low key. We didn't tell a lot of people we were making our triumphant return to Minnesota (first time I was going back with my parents). My parents did end up visiting a couple of friends (once dragging me along), but for the most part, we kept the focus on spending time with the family. I went to a hockey game with the boys, my parents went to lunch withe Bruce's dad, and there was time spent at the nursing home. Thanksgiving itself was a nice low key affair; some people from church dropped by and ate with us, but no one that knew my parents or me. It was definitely a bittersweet time for all of us but we were glad to be there.

On the night we left back for San Diego, we made one last visit to the nursing home to say goodbye to Bruce's mom. My mom sat beside her bed and held her hand, and while she couldn't speak, I know that she knew what was going on in the room. My mom started to get emotional, which immediately started getting me emotional, while my dad did his best to be a calming presence in the room. Finally, it was time to leave the nursing home and to leave Minnesota.

By no means did we want this to be the circumstance that finally brought us back to Minnesota, but it did redefine Thanksgiving for our family. I don't expect this holiday to be this impact on us every year but it is a reminder that it's about togetherness, even if Fred is right about the cultural genocide aspect of the mythology. When I have kids and they ask me about Thanksgiving, I'll have to tell them the lie about the Pilgrims and the Indians, but then I'll tell them about the time the Paks left California to break bread with the Lees in Minnesota and I'll be proud to tell them all about that story.