Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays. Before writing this article, I couldn’t pinpoint exactly why- there isn’t some groundingbreaking reason or a heartfelt sob story. I just have always loved it. I love waking up that morning and just knowing it’s Thanksgiving Day. I love the smell of turkey and potatoes cooking all afternoon. I love sitting around after dinner, where I had one too many rolls and glasses of sparkling cider. There is just something about this holiday that I have always found so comforting. The more I’ve reflected on it, I’ve started to realize what makes this holiday so significant to me: It’s steady. It’s consistent. Thanksgiving is maybe the only day of the year where I know exactly what’s going to happen and how it’s going to go. The older I get, the more uncertainty I face. Every day feels like it brings change and new challenges. Yet, Thanksgiving remains a reliable anchor. No other holiday is like that for me- even Christmas doesn’t feel the same now that I’m older. And of course some things about Thanksgiving have changed slightly as I’ve grown up (moving houses, my sister having kids, more or less extended family certain years, etc.). But no matter the changes, our family traditions have remained, and the comfort of this holiday has stayed with me from year to year.
My family has had the same traditions and routine for Thanksgiving my entire life. This is the most recent narration of how this holiday has gone, at least in recent years: I wake up to the sounds of a bustling kitchen. The scents of a sizzling turkey and the beginnings of breakfast waft upstairs to my bedroom. My mother has been up for hours, and by the time I make it down to the kitchen, multiple dishes have already been made for dinner and breakfast is practically ready to be served. I pour myself a cup of coffee and make my way to the living room as I wait for my sister and brother-in-law to arrive at my parents house with my two perfect little nieces. When they arrive, my mother presents breakfast, which includes a baked dish of sausage and eggs, fruit, lots of coffee, and the star of the show: cinnamon rolls. (Why cinnamon rolls? Seriously, I couldn’t tell you. But I have had a cinnamon roll on Thanksgiving morning as long as I’ve been alive!) We all greet one another with the classic “Heyyy! Happy Thanksgiving!” as the girls run inside and find their toys. Slowly but surely, everyone loads up their breakfast plate to bring into the living room for what might just be the best part of the day: watching The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Every year, we joke about actually attending the parade in person one of these days, knowing very well it will never happen. My sister and I have lots of opinions and we usually share every last one of them- covering anything from the floats, to the performances, the celebrities, you name it. My mother can never sit still, as she is running back and forth from the kitchen all morning long. My father makes the same comment every year as he gets up just about half way through the parade saying, “I’m gonna get another cinnamon roll!” since it is Thanksgiving after all. When the parade ends, the National Dog Show begins and we all pretend to be uninterested, as we take turns getting up and moving around, only to inevitably watch the entire thing and root for our favorite dogs. At this point, the real cooking has begun and we all attempt to help out as much as we can, but it is nothing compared to the work my mother has put in. The rest of the afternoon is spent lounging around waiting for it to be a socially acceptable time to eat dinner. So naturally around 4:00pm we all sit down at the dining table ready to feast on an incredible meal that my mother insists on saying “didn’t turn out the way she wanted.” Despite her comments, the food is always fantastic, and we all eat more than we can fit into our stomachs. My brother-in-law goes back for a second full plate, and we all marvel at how he could possibly eat anymore, while simultaneously being jealous we don’t have enough room for a second plate ourselves. My family sits around the table for a while, a few of us getting up to play with the kids or to clear plates. Eventually my mother announces that it’s time for dessert, bringing out pumpkin pie, cookies, ice cream, and more. The rest of the night involves familiarity and comfort as we sit around with full bellies, discussing the Christmas season to come. And every year I go to bed with an overwhelming sense of contentment, feeling grateful and blessed to have days like this and people to spend them with.
So yes, if it isn’t obvious, I actually do know why I love Thanksgiving so much. I love traditions. I love holidays. I love being cheesy and sentimental, and I love my family. I love being reminded of what I am so blessed to have and being grateful that I get one day a year of steady consistency. I love knowing that whatever I go off to do or wherever in the world I am, I’ll be home on that fourth Thursday in November watching the parade and eating a cinnamon roll.