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.

Reminder

Buy tickets for my November 15 show at 7:30pm here.

$15 presale, $20 at the door.

How the Flaming Lips Saved My (Spiritual) Life

It's weird to go to the same church for 8 years and then one day decide "Maybe I should just stop going here." There was no life changing event, I was just bored. I was showing up late, if at all, and was leaving the minute service was dismissed. I realized that if this was going to be my routine for Sunday mornings, I would be better off sleeping in or watching TV.

So I decided I would check out a couple of different churches and then I would decide if I should find something better to do on my Sunday mornings. I didn't feel like I owed it to anyone (or to God) to check out some churches, but since I've been going to church since I was born, I wanted to make sure I wasn't making any rash decisions. So I called my friend, Paul, and asked him if he knew of any places in the area. He gave me a couple of suggestions and I decided that these would be the churches that would tell me where I was going to be on Sundays, if I would be going anywhere at all.

I wasn't going to set the bar too high. I didn't expect to be speaking in tongues or have a spiritual awakening. I just wanted to go to church for more than the need to satisfy a routine or keep myself from feeling guilty. My sisters have stopped going to church and they seem happy enough without it. So I went to one church, and while the people were friendly enough, something just didn't click with me. I liked it, but wasn't sure if I liked enough to want to return every Sunday morning. So the next week I headed off to the next suggestion, which Paul thought was ideal for me even though he had only been there once and the only person he knew that went there was his cousin's best friend who was also an "artsy fool like [me]".

I went with a couple of friends to this recommended church in Fullerton, which is about 20-25 minutes north of where I live. When I saw that it was a 20-25 minute commute on Google Maps, I secretly hoped I would hate it. (Un)Fortunately I enjoyed it and decided that I would give it a shot and that I'd re-evaluate later. I wanted to throw myself into the fray to get a good feel for the people and the place, but also didn't want to act like I owned the place. So after a couple of months, I started to integrate, and then I decided to test the mettle of the people in my age group. I didn't want to go to a church where I didn't have to alter my interests to fit in. I wanted to talk about my artsy film, indie rock, and under the radar comedians. I didn't want to debate whether Michelle Branch was a Christian so people wouldn't feel guilty that they liked listening to her music.

About a month before I showed up at this church, my friend Phil had informed me that he went to a Zaireeka Party on Record Store Day (Approx the 3rd Saturday in April) in Chicago. Zaireeka is a 4 CD set by the flaming lips where you are instructed to play all 4 CDs at the same time and to spread out the 4 CD players you are using so you can discern what sounds are coming from where. I was fascinated by this concept in high school, except when I had learned about it, the box set was out of print. Fortunately it was back in print and my friend telling me about the party inspired me to grab a copy so I could have a party of my own. This would be my formal introduction to this church.

I partnered up with a couple of other church Flaming Lips friends (who conveniently were roommates) and we sent out an e-mail about the party. We had a decent amount of people show up (none, who had heard of the Flaming Lips previously) and we had a good time. After it was over, we grabbed dinner and went to go see Burn After Reading. While it's is not the greatest Coen Brothers film, it's still a Coen Brothers film, and I was satisfied with how the night turned out. There wasn't any sort of spiritual pretext for the party. It was pretty self-indulgent, if anything. I was inviting people who I'd only known for a couple of months into my world and was unapologetic about it. Luckily, people thought the Zaireeka idea was cool and appreciated being invited.

From that point on, I felt a lot of freedom at church, which is probably how church should be, but I've never felt that way. At the last church I was at, there was a lot of clearances you needed to receive since that's how things work at big churches (organizations). Here, it's much smaller and relaxed. For once, at a church, I didn't feel like I needed to compromise my interests. Whether it be planning events or playing guitar, I've been kind of left alone, and I mean that in the best way possible. I grew up in a church where there was a debate if the electric guitar was evil. Now I'm encouraged to make evil sounds with my electric guitar.

I've been at this church for about a year and a half now. My friend told me "At the 18 month mark is where you get sick of something or not." As it stands right now, so far so good. I haven't found myself bored of this place nor have I thought about leaving. A couple of months ago, I saw the Flaming Lips in concert with a couple of friends and my pastor. I invited him to the show and he really enjoyed it. As we watched Wayne Coyne come out in his plastic bubble into the crowd, it confirmed the notion that I'm in the right place, and I definitely have to thank the Flaming Lips for making sure I stuck around.