Like millions of Americans everywhere, tomorrow I will be eating turkey, honey baked ham, mashed potatoes, stuffing, macaroni-n-cheese, green bean casserole (not really), corn, cranberries, sweet potato, pumpkin pie, flan, and all that other good shit Publix shows us we need to give thanks.
Disclaimer: Any excuse to get together with friends and family is cool with me. I mean, it’s not like everybody gets together on (uh-hum) Thanksgiving , looks themselves in the eyes, and says “thank you for ________”. That would be a little odd. Different – which is good – but odd, nonetheless. The opportunity to drink beer, eat good food, and talk out of one side of my mouth, however, is always welcome.
I’m thankful for many things. I’m thankful for my ridiculous family (yes, “that good”).
I’m thankful for friends (no need for an adjective here; if he/she is a friend, that’s ’nuff said).
I’m thankful for intellectual freedom.
I’m thankful for property rights (cause that’s how I eat).
I’m thankful for my life (for choosing me).
And I’m thankful for Squanto, the Pantuxet tribesman widely known for assisting the Pilgrims at the site of his former village.
After all, if there was no Squanto, there would be no Pilgrims, which would mean that there would be no reason for us to eat, drink, and be merry.
If there was no Squanto, there would be no Pilgrims, which would mean that there would be no reason for children to dress as Pilgrims and Indians at school (and parents couldn’t take pictures with smart phones that allow them to post straight to their favorite social media profiles almost immediately).
If there was no Squanto, there would be no Pilgrims, which would mean that we couldn’t watch the Dallas Cowboys or the Detroit Lions while we wait for the bird to cook.
If there was no Squanto, there would be no Pilgrims, which would eliminate the reason to get
1 2 days off from work.
Worse of all, if there was no Squanto, there would be no reason to celebrate Black Friday. I know. Imagine that. I don’t even want to think about it. Horrible.
Squanto, considered instrumental in the survival of the English in their first winter in New England, may or may not have had an exchange that went something like this (please don’t quote me):
Squanto: Hi, my name is Squanto. Welcome to _________ (insert Native American name of land).
Englishmen: This used to be _________ (insert Native American name of land). It’s Plymouth now, homeh.
Squanto: Oh OK (shakes head not knowing exactly what that means). You guys wanna learn how to survive this harsh ass winter? How ’bout plant and fertilize crops? Fish? Catch eels?
Englishmen (eager): Yeah, yeah. Please teach us.
After the 2nd day, Englishmen congregate and come up with an idea.
Englishmen: You know what Squanto?
Squanto: What, Caucasian-man-with-interesting-accent?
Englishmen: We like the way you and your buddies plant maize, fertilize crops, hunt, and fish?
Squanto: For real?!
Englishmen: Hells yeah! We like it so much that we think you and your boys should stop teaching and start doing.
Squanto: Oh yeah?
Squanto: But what’s in it for us, Caucasian-guy-with-interesting-accent?
Englishmen: Maaan, you get to have smallpox, leptospirosis, and all those other infectious diseases that you have no immunity for. It’s gonna be killer.
Squanto: If you say so.
Englishmen: Oh, by the way…we heard that your homehs, Massasoit and Hobamok, think you’re a major sellout. You better watch them closely.
Squanto: You got my back?
Englishmen (laughing while looking at each other): We got your back alright (as they give each other the “wink, wink”). Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
Flickr image courtesy of Yelnoc.