Now begins the rounding up for the holidays. Rounding up recipes, groceries, the special dinnerware, the guests. Growing up, my parents did the traditional meals and usual foods, but looking back, I see their holiday traditions differently than I did then.
Mom was confined to a wheelchair my whole life. My parents struggled to make ends meet and Dad worked two jobs. As a especially meat cutter, the holidays were demanding. I remember he’d leave for work before daylight then come home late and so tired. Yet on his rare days off, he dug down deep to find the energy and money to help others.
One thing I recall about their holiday dinners is my parent’s commitment to deliver “to go” plates to a dozen folks who didn’t have a meal to attend. Or rather deliver a box, with several plates in it — enough for a couple of meals. Talk hours to do. One of dad’s only days he didn’t have to go to work and instead of hunting or fishing as men like to do, he was hauling what he had to offer, however small, to another home. Quietly and without fanfare. Take some food, have a little conversation. Connect.
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Something else I remember about holidays at home is the collection of guests we’d end up with at our table. Not sure where Mom learned her history, but she said the first holiday meals at the very beginning were for Indians and Pilgrims together. If you hole up with just your own family to have a high holy holiday of gluttony, you missed the point.
We were encouraging to bring people home from college or bring home someone we worked with. I laugh and correct myself when I say we were expected to round up misfits, because we were the misfits. Seriously, we were off-the-beaten-path types. The extended family tree had divorce, addictions, affairs, money problems… and love. Because of the love, we didn’t have to pretend the messy stuff wasn’t there. It’s a richer love which loves people in their messes.
I don’t think the gore in our family tree was any more than other family trees, it’s simply that we were honest about it. No hiding or attempts to appear like the First Family of anything.
Years ago, some friends who knew the liberal city I live in, asked me if I knew a gay. I said, “I could probably come up with one. Do you need one?”
To that question, my mom would’ve said yes, we do. We need a gay. And a Spanish-speaker and widower and a rich person. We need someone who is obsessed with their dog, an athlete, a Christian, an atheist and a Catholic. Democrats, scoot over and make room for a Republican. We want a redneck and a northerner. Someone wearing a thousand-dollar fur coat and someone who has worn the same thing the past three days. Find a hoarder as well as someone who doesn’t have anything to hoard. Bring in a smoker, bring in a great singer and a preacher.
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For all seasons, but especially for seasons designated for gratitude, if we haven’t reached out beyond ourselves, we have failed. If we haven’t made our kids (of any age) reach out beyond themselves, we have failed even bigger. Things going well, Junior? Then pause in your great life to tune in to some people who are struggling. You struggling yourself, sweet daughter? Then find someone who is struggling more. (More on spoiling the meaning of the holidays by spoiling our children next week, after I summon more courage.)
For my parents, serving others wasn’t talked about. They never once used the word “serve.” It wasn’t a blah-blah prayer or lip service value. It was how they lived. And how they made us live. Not a suggestion. It was expected and demanded.
Rather than visit the token widow in our neighborhood who got help to pieces because she was nearby and met the criteria for someone downtrodden, we were expected to reach further. Until it wasn’t convenient. Include and recruit. Welcome and welcome some more. There’s always room. Take my seat. I’ll give you a ride. Let me pay.
Our meal didn’t count for truly giving thanks if it was just our family. Sometimes we had only a few other folks attend our dinner and sometimes quite a few. It wasn’t the number of people. It was the attitude of inclusion.
Not enough matching dishes? We’ll drag out some Tupperware lids to use for plates. If we filled up the dining table, we set up a card table. If we used all the chairs, we turned over a wooden crate for a seat. Mismatched chairs and mismatched “family.”
It was awkward sometimes. Not all warm and gooey like a Hallmark special. But we were taught to press on the through the awkwardness. For a greater purpose.
If the focus of the season is to showcase the tidiness of your house and the ideal delicious meal for your family, gathering a ragtag group together doesn’t make sense. But if feeling and expressing gratitude is the focus of the season, inviting all kinds of riffraff and the resulting chaos makes complete sense.
When did Thanksgiving become a day of caloric overindulgence followed by days of consumerism? Eat, decorate, buy, race from event to event, yakking about our blessings. That’s not living in appreciation for what we have. And we aren’t really making much impact on anything or anyone. We’re only celebrating ourselves. Ick.
This is the opinion of Nancy Williams, the coordinator of professional education at UNC Asheville. Contact her at nwilliam@unca.edu.