I think Thanksgiving is one of those holidays that you can slowly watch yourself change from child to grown-up, especially for girls. It happens slowly, starting with making a plate for one of the younger cousins, then being responsible for them when the grown-ups were busy. Eventually we fall into the rolls of our mothers, grandmothers and aunts, from doing the dishes after the meal to preparing parts (or all) of it.
I didn’t truly realize how far behind my childhood was until I went to Thanksgiving with Rich’s family. Suddenly I was in a situation in which I was an outsider, learning the ways of how they celebrated Thanksgiving around the table and in the kitchen. I had been informed of the major differences, like the bird was stuffed with meat, not bread stuffing, but had to pick up on the subtle ones like the gravy was made with a browning mix, not flour.
In the five Thanksgivings since I’ve managed to do what most women before me have done. I’ve incorporated bits of my Thanksgiving into his Thanksgiving and vice versa. Meat and bread stuffing, turnip, and pierogies are now all served on the dinner table.
I look forward to our new Thanksgiving traditions, and to the day when my son brings home a girl who introduces us to her Thanksgiving. The cycle continues.
