Thanksgiving is Weird

Back when I was younger, holidays and parties meant something much more. They were these cherished and coveted events that held special promise, something to look forward to during the year. Thanksgiving used to be on that list. Back then, my family would pack up and drive down to Indiana to spend a few days there. Incredible hybridized Korean-American Thanksgiving dinner. Cousins. Videogames. Then back home.

But I've found that in the past years, it fails to hold a special place in my heart like Christmas or my birthday does. It simply exists. It's never been a particularly charming or heart-warming occasion when my family stays at home, as we always end up fighting over something or leaving me with some vague and ambivalent dissatisfaction with the whole holiday.

This made me question my previous anticipation for the holiday when I was younger. What does/did Thanksgiving represent to me? Was it a chance for me to actually spend time with my family and appreciate their presence, or did its specialness only appeal to me when fun was involved?

My mother, who works in the retail industry, had to work on Thanksgiving and Black Friday and the day after that. As a family, we were forced to postpone our family dinner to Sunday night. At first, it seems kind of tragic and pathetic to not be cherishing the family time I've been allowed on Thursday, but then, does it really matter when we celebrate Thanksgiving? No. It doesn't. November 28th is simply a date, a marker on a calendar reminding us to actually do something with our families. Precisely when I spend time with my family does not matter one bit; all that does is that I do.

Thanksgiving is supposed to mean something. It's supposed to represent a reminder to each of us that we must spend time with our loved ones. Thanksgiving doesn't have to be—or maybe isn't supposed to be—fun. It's supposed to teach each of us a lesson in remembering our roots.