When you're an immigrant on Thanksgiving Day in the U.S., half of you wants to try to get into the whole turkey and boiled beets bit to keep peace and go with the flow, the other doesn't understand it. You're stuck in that strange gap between two cultures that can leave you feeling a little left out of both, when you're neither Here nor There. You understand Thanksgiving is one of the Big Solemn American Holidays that is not to be messed with (even though its origins are mess'd up). Schools and government offices shut down, towns and parking lots go empty, families huddle inside their homes and congregate around sliced poultry and television specials. But inside your home, it's just another day.
As an immigrant kid, you try to participate in the canned food drive at school, except your family doesn't eat a whole lot of canned foods, so with a smoldering red face, you bring in pickled onions, sardines and packages of ramen and rice noodles. But you hide it all in the back of your cubby (behind the stash of things you keep at school that your parents wouldn't understand at home) because even in first grade, you've got a rep to protect. When the teacher drags your food pantry contributions to the Christmas tree in the school cafeteria, there's never a question which tangled-hair girl donated the bamboo shoots, the answer which is usually followed by a chorus of giggles and laughter. And then your face glows pink as you sit there wearing your Goodwill thrift store brown corduroys you inherited from your brother. But because you're a refugee / immigrant, your parents have beat it into your head that even if you don't have any friends, you should be thankful on such a fine day because at least you have boys' pants to wear and bamboo shoots to eat.
Nowadays, I do believe that traditions, especially those that center around customary foods, are what root us and help us feel we belong. And I am deeply, overwhelmingly thankful for so much more than I can even begin to articulate that it sometimes keeps me up at night for fear of suddenly losing them, including, but not limited to, my used clothing.
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4 comments:
used socks, now I may draw the line at that...I can so relate on this one.
so 'tis time to give thanks, and I'm giving thanks that we got a chance to reconnect a bit through the power of the blog.
hope you and little A. had a good thanksgiving, with our without the cranberry sauce.
Oh boy. I remember all the turkey mishaps in my house. There were a few birds that did not cook well and ended up in soups. That was that time when we threw out the pop-out thermometer by mistake. There was a call to my younger brother's best friend's mom about the turkey. Later, we learned about Butterball's hotline. This year, my siblings and I finally gave up. We ordered 2 turkeys (one fried!) with plenty left over for soups and rice porridge. Finally, we figured it out... it only took about 20 years!
caro--i am thankful this, too.
sandy--turkey rice porridge. mm.
omg, did you see my list to santa? i asked for new socks! kid you not! being such a great friend that i am, i'd be glad to share with you all my used ones. just so you know, if i get boy pants to wear and bamboo shoots to eat, too, it will indeed be a fine day.
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