Chapter Thirteen - What Are We Even Thanking?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

What Are We Even Thanking?

LET’S BE HONEST.

Most people aren’t thinking about pilgrims on Thanksgiving.
They’re thinking about traffic. Or travel. Or turkey.
Or making sure their uncle doesn’t bring up politics at the table.

The holiday that started as a colonial feast, got rebranded as national unity, turned into a Rockwell fantasy, and evolved into a kid’s play — has now become something else entirely:

A giant, overstimulated pause button.

It’s the most American day of the year.

Not because it’s patriotic — but because it’s chaotic.

Family tension. Flight delays. Burnt rolls. Late arrivals. Football on too loud.
Too much food. Not enough space. That one cousin who’s back on keto.
And behind all of it, this weird pressure to be thankful — even if you’re tired, broke, grieving, annoyed, or numb.

It’s a performance.

A ritual of forced gratitude wrapped in carbs.

The truth?

Some people love it.
Some people dread it.
Most people just do it.

Even if they don’t know why.

The history’s fuzzy. The meaning’s vague. The traditions are glued together with nostalgia and sugar.

But every year, it shows up again.
And somehow, we still sit down.

Meanwhile, Native voices keep rising.

Not to cancel the day — but to reclaim space inside it.
To speak. To remember. To mourn. To resist.
Some hold ceremonies. Some gather in protest. Some stay quiet and endure.

Because for them, Thanksgiving isn’t a joke or a meal.

It’s a mirror.

One that reflects what America chooses to forget — and what it still hasn’t faced.

So what are we even thanking?

Are we grateful for survival? For family? For food?

Are we thankful for myths that made us feel better?

Or are we just scared of what happens if we stop pretending?

There’s no clean answer.
No moral wrap-up.
No verdict.

Just a table, set every year.
With stories we inherited.
With truths we buried.
With people we never invited back.

And somehow — we still eat.

That’s Thanksgiving.