November 29, 2014 § Leave a comment
Thanksgiving is the bomb. Hoping everyone’s happiness trickles into the weekend and stays. Too much to be thankful for. Too little pumpkin cheesecake left.
I spent my Thanksgiving with my boyfriend and none of our family members. It was quiet and wonderful. My day was divided between helping Danny cook for hours and hours, listening to loud music, reading the news, and watching Holiday-themed-things on Netflix.
This is where I say that this Thanksgiving felt very nontraditional. This is where I say that I am privileged. This is where I say that it was hard to acknowledge my happiness on such a perverted holiday. Which, when we’re considering the actual historical implication of the colonists and co. on the Native Americans, can and should no way be justified ever. Or the image of the illuminated Seasons Greetings banner over Ferguson. Or the scene in Holiday Inn where Bing Crosby’s character Jim Hardy smears black paint over Marjorie Reynold’s character Linda Mason which she cheerfully says is a form of “punishment” before they perform a blackface routine celebrating Lincoln’s presidency while literally personifying every stereotype of antebellum Black culture. And this is where I say that my Thanksgiving post was not supposed to take a political turn. Oops.
Historically/politically/technically Thanksgiving is not the bomb, but a day devoted to being thankful is. I’m glad for Natalie Diaz poems and how beautifully she writes about the contemporary Native American experience. I’m thankful for every single post attached to the #BlackPoetsSpeakOut hashtag. I’m thankful for Gilmore Girls and health and education and snow and friendship and words and vegetables and warm coats and vintage jewelery and onion soup and the shirt photographed that makes me look like Thanksgiving-pilgrim-witch. I’m thankful for the space that begs for positive change. I’m thankful for the souls in my life and their nonstop love. I’m thankful. I’m lucky. Every. Single. Day.