This American Holiday.

In the nature of most of my blogspiration, I was having a conversation the other day with a friend and we were discussing St. Patrick's Day plans. This obviously lent itself into a general questioning of the phenomenon of the American holiday tradition and why and how we celebrate what we do. We concluded the following: The holidays that Americans choose to celebrate reflect a collective set of St. Values de Americana. The values that seem to be most prevalent throughout these holidays are the following:

-A lack of cultural knowledge and thus, a misinterpretation (St. Patrick's Day, Easter, Cinco de Mayo, Thanksgiving and Christmas)

that leads us to celebrate with...


-Greed and Consumerism (Valentine's Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas)

and typically, we find ourselves in a world of

-Overconsumption (St. Patrick's Day, Cinco De Mayo, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas)

I can't possibly discuss what is ludicrous in the American interpretation of each of these days. Instead, I've narrowed my focus to the fascination of St. Patrick's Day, May 5th and that Thursday before Black Friday (another blog entirely based on nomenclature alone).

St. Patrick's Day
A day to celebrate our Irish brethren, right? Somehow we equate celebrate with violating another's person by inflicting a pinch of pain if they refused to incorporate green into their wardrobe. Then we laugh, boast, "But you're not wearing green!" and raise our glass to toast with a beer that has been dyed an awful murky green color that looks less than appetizing. Which in retrospect, I guess makes sense, because a lot of Irish food is unappetizing to look at. Note: Don't claim you are wearing green underwear because now you are turning this into more of a Mardi Gras holiday. Let's stick to some good clean fun of chasing Leprechauns around double rainbows to steal their pot o' gold.

Cinco de Mayo
For those of you who believed high school Spanish class was synonymous with nap time, I'm referring to the 5th of May. You know, that day where you leave work early to catch Happy Hour at oba! (PDX reference), break out that sombrero Chevy's gifted you on your last BDay and indulge in margs. All in the name of Mexico's independence...since we love and treat our southernly neighbor during non-5th of May days with adoration and care.

Americans, if we're so bent on commemorating Mexico's independence, try diez y seis de septiembre....if you've returned from your Labor Day weekend, that is.

Thanksgiving
Remember cutting out goldenrod sheets of construction paper shaped as buckles and attaching them to Abe Lincoln looking hats, all by way of your handy Elmer's glue stick? I do. The thought of it alone makes me want to order one from Amazon just to have one around to glue nothing in particular together, but just to inhale the scents of childhood.

Well, that smell is also one of ignorance.

How many 3rd grade teachers told the real story of Thanksgiving? Since I can't be sure that you were the recipient of false rhetoric emphasizing the blossoming friendship between the natives and the White people that "discovered" the new world and slaughtered a group of people in order to claim it as their own, I'll just account this as my own teaching. Imagine my bewilderment years later when I realized we revered this holiday as one to be thankful. I'm sure that is exactly what the Native's sentiment was. Thankful. They also probably saw it as a day where sometime in the distant future, a department store named Macy's would create enormous balloons and fly them in between skyscrapers of an imminent city called New York. Yes, that would be the epitome of symbolizing this occasion. Screw you mylar balloons, we made Shrek look like a real ogre.

[The parade is still awesome, don't get me wrong. My view on Thanksgiving 2008]

If we really wanted to honor Thanksgiving for what it were, then we'd take note from my favorite man, Jon Stewart:

"I celebrated Thanksgiving the old-fashioned way. I invited everyone in my neighborhood to my house, we had an enormous feast, and then I killed them and took their land."

Note: I am not condoning or encouraging murder. I'm just being authentic.

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We really shouldn't have the audacity to complain and furthermore should feel slightly embarrassed when we publicly complain about the climbing numbers of childhood obesity or our doctors give us the "shocking" news of developing Type 2 diabetes (come on Paula, were you really surprised? You eat sticks of butta for breakfast), when we look at what we value. I mean, we chaperone our children on a pilgrimage of begging for candy from strangers while wearing a weird disguise around the neighborhood in the middle of the night. And what about the spring outdoor 'hunt' where we taunt and put them in competition with one another to find boiled food products and other chocolate candies scattered in the yard? "Tommy found the most eggs (chicken & cadbury), he wins! Now go inside and wash up for our Easter feast that we'll begin at 2 and end around 7."

The American girl in me does love to celebrate and in fact, I have been unsuccessfully pushing my friends to begin commemorating Flag Day (::crossing fingers:: Twenty-Twelve could be the year!). But I also feel shamed when we seem to have completely diluted any cultural meaning within a holiday. However, we are a young nation...as another friend of mine put it, "we are the teenagers of the world." If that's the case, rest assured. By our twenties we'll have it all figured out, right?

The one with all the Thanksgivings....

I used to loathe Thanksgiving. Instead of a happy grumble of excitement in my belly looking forward to the day, I stressed at the thought of it. Because of this I found myself in Reno in 2007 and NYC in 2008. The latter being one of the best days (trip for that matter) of my entire life.

My animosity for the aforementioned holiday did not come from a distaste of any particular Thanksgiving course much like Chandler, the star of the show from which this blog title is stolen from, or the "stomach-is-overcapacity" message that my brain received a turkey-bite too late. I was plagued by the symptoms of any child of divorced parents.

[This is in no way a poor-me, post. In fact, it's quite the opposite.]

With each turn of the pages in my planner closer to our Thursday celebration, a nauseating feeling would rise in my stomach.

I felt slaughtered. Much like the turkeys that many would be feasting upon (except for the lucky SOB that ended up at The White House and was pardoned). Or the way the Natives did after the Pilgrims, well, slaughtered them. Now I'm being dramatic.

Where was I to go? Who was I to spend it with? Running around town sounded like too much work and the thought of leaving one parent for another brought indescribable guilt of picking favorites. After you ate dinner you were supposed to sit. Let the fat absorb and well, get fat. Unbuckle that top button; loosen that belt. Not go to dinner #2.

So I didn't do it. Goodbye Portland. Hello anywhere else.

I had to float away for a little bit to find my way home...and float I did. Just like the giant Shrek I watched fly down that New York street in November 2008. But after this glorious flight, Shrek was deflated into nothing but a glob of green wrinkled plastic without the assistance of helium and his team of people that held his strings down to keep him aloft.

Like the helium in a balloon, these ideas of stress surrounding what should be a happy holiday had blown up to capacity in my head. And I wasn't allowing my special "team" to help me through it.

Enter Thanksgiving Twenty-Ten.

I woke up at my dad's and took my brother his favorite pie that I make annually, no none of that Pumpkin business, Sweet Potato Pie. And then I held her. Miss Olivia.

Her first Thanksgiving. She wouldn't be feasting on Turkey, pie, or gumbo (another family tradition), she'd just be spending time with those who loved her. Eating. Sleeping. And that's all it took was a look in those big dark eyes staring up to me. The importance of my team.

After sufficient cuddling time, I went to dinner #1 at mom's with my grandma and uncle. We watched Charlie Brown [granny and I share a love for Charlie Brown], I slept and then awoke in time to head to my next destination.

To dinner #2 I went with dad, other grandma, my 2 other uncles and cousins. I sang 'The Beatles' while my cousins played back up guitar and drums on Rock band followed by the annual never-ending Domino game. We lost. But we had fun.

I was afforded the luxury of seeing all of my family in a day's time. How lucky I am to not only have the ability to see them all, but to have people that actually care that much about me in my life. It's easy to lose sight when you have these things within your grasp and you forget about those who don't have that love in arm's reach.

We're born within this small group of people out of 6 billion other ones walking upon this Earth, in such a specific moment in time. There's no choice to where you end up. But there is the choice to love.

I'm thankful for my team. This indescribable bond we share that requests nothing in return and I only feel for a very few select people on this Earth. I now realize what a unique experience this is.

What a gift.