The year we didn’t abandon joy
In November 2020, I careened into the holiday season amid a frenzied swirl of uncertainty. What, actually, could I do in a pandemic? Would it be safe to arrange a gathering with Grandma and Grandpa? Could we share a meal, a hug – some single spark of joy?
We tried. We made a plan to beat back gloom. But the day before, someone developed a sore throat, and as we canceled and worried, an unease came over me.
Why We Wrote This
From pandemic gatherings and warm welcomes to a homesick holiday abroad, five writers offer grateful reflections on their most memorable Thanksgivings.
With nothing to lose, I put on a mask and bought the last fresh turkey in the grocery store. The next day, Thanksgiving, my husband and I prepared it with the help of an untried recipe that I assumed, along with so much else that year, would produce something we’d have to abandon.
But you know what? It turned out all right.
Then we FaceTimed with the grandparents, and they were all right, too.
Then I rallied my family to pose for a holiday photo shoot, and that turned out cute. Then we ate store-bought pumpkin pie, which wasn’t my mom’s, but still tasted like celebration. And for the rest of the weekend, we played Christmas music, my husband strumming along on the guitar, the kids donning Santa hats and dancing on the furniture, all of their faces glowing and bright.
And me? Eventually I collapsed on the couch, undone by music and food and gratitude, certain of at least this: Joy should never be abandoned. It’s there. All you have to do is slow down and look.
– Emily Brisse
Pass the turkey – and the traditions
As my future father-in-law cut the turkey’s leg joint and heaped the entire oversize drumstick onto the platter, I stifled a gasp. Twelve members of my soon-to-be Dutch family looked on as he proudly dissected the first turkey to grace their table.
At 21 years old, fresh out of college, I had pictured myself launching into adulthood with a high-powered job in a big city. Instead, I followed love to the Netherlands. I found myself adrift and smacked by homesickness, aching for the familiar.
To accommodate my longing to celebrate Thanksgiving, my future mother-in-law kindly hunted down a whole turkey for the occasion. And so, in a tiny Dutch kitchen, I attempted my first Thanksgiving dinner.
Extended family arrived, curious about American customs. A few brought side dishes, but none of the usual cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, or sweet potatoes I was accustomed to. My heart sank a little as I took in the unfamiliar spread.
But as we passed platters and shared turkey, and I recounted stories of Thanksgivings back home, something shifted. I realized that while food anchors our traditions, Thanksgiving isn’t really about the food on the table – it is about sharing a meal with the people gathered around it.
– Caroline Lubbers
Embraced by kindness
In my early 20s, I found myself marooned in Boston for Thanksgiving. The rest of my family, including six siblings and their significant others, would gather – as always – around my parents’ table in northern Minnesota. That year, I lacked the funds to make the trek.
I was catching up with an old journalism professor, and she asked if I had plans for the day. I told her about my struggles. She beamed and exclaimed, “You should come to our house!” I tentatively accepted her invitation.
On the big day, I took the commuter rail to her home in Concord, Massachusetts. When I got to her door, I was quickly enveloped in hugs, handshakes, and warm wishes from various aunts and uncles. Her children and their cousins scampered about, while the adults were deeply engrossed in conversation. My professor introduced me to everyone as her brilliant student, my cheeks flush with embarrassment and delight.
By the evening’s end, I was cuddled up on the couch in a pile of kids, a movie playing while the little ones started to doze. I remember feeling like nobody cared that I was there, in the best of ways; I was so thoroughly welcomed into their life that my presence was a nonevent. That kindness and generosity of spirit has stayed with me, and I hope to pay it forward one day.
– Samantha Laine Perfas
Home and heart aglow
Growing up as an only child, I only had small and quiet Thanksgivings. It was like any other day, but with my mom’s cornbread dressing. As soon as we finished eating, I’d hightail it over to my best friend’s house, where movies played all day, kids ran in and out, and there was lots of festive mayhem. I loved the big-family energy of it all.
As a reserved adult, I found entertaining wasn’t my thing. Which is why no one was more surprised than I was when one year, hosting my husband’s family fell into my lap. I’d never even cooked a turkey, and now 25 people were coming to my house. I needed a plan.
My husband volunteered to cook the bird, I dusted off a broccoli cheese casserole recipe, and relatives in our group chat offered to bring sides and desserts. Each person did a little so no one had to do a lot. That was six years ago. Now we host Thanksgiving every November.
Last year after we ate, I slipped out to walk the dogs and saw that my house was the only one on the block encircled by cars. Light streamed through the windows, and people were in every room: snacking on leftovers in the kitchen, playing charades at the dining room table, watching a football game in the den. It was everything I dreamed of as a child. My home – and my heart – were full.
– Courtenay Rudzinski
“A family is like a forest”
There’s a holiday tradition in my dad’s family that never gets old – the prayer circle before Thanksgiving dinner. Before the cranberry sauce is passed around, our family joins hands and everyone shares something they’re grateful for from the past year.
It’s the type of carrying on that older people love and impatient children loathe. But what I’ve come to realize is that my loved ones aren’t just sharing stories – they’re healing.
I watch warm tears fall down my uncle’s face, as he shares losses from years past. Watching him make peace in real time captures the essence of the holiday for me.
Thanksgiving is not just a prayer circle. It’s the circle of life. I can remember the faces of yesteryear that aren’t at the table with us today. But their legacies live on, and the circle remains unbroken, with new births and lives that continue to blossom.
And when, gathered around the table, we allow ourselves to be vulnerable and lay our burdens down, family is there to lift us up. It reminds me of this African proverb: “A family is like a forest. When you are outside it is dense; when you are inside you see that each tree has its place.”
– Ken Makin
