Thanksgiving in the States

It's Thanksgiving in the States; another work day in Canada. At 3:00pm I called up the family who had all gathered at one of my sister's. Turkey, cranberry, stuffing. Everyone happy, excepting, as usual, the turkey. I remember, back in elementary school, taking a day-long field trip to visit Plymouth Rock, the exact spot where the Pilgrims landed. I was expecting to see a rock right on the water's edge because it was, after all, the rock where Captain, oh darn--what was is name?--William Smyth (maybe) stepped ashore. The Rock wasn't at the water's edge; in fact, it was pretty far inland. I remember looking at the rock and trying to figure out how he stepped ashore on it. I decided they must have had the wrong rock, and so lost interest in the outing and was bored the rest of the day. Even worse, I thought if they got the rock wrong, then they may have gotten other parts of the story wrong too. History suddenly seemed up for grabs. That's when I my skepticism began--at a third grade outing to Plymouth Rock.

That said, there was something about a U.S. Thanksgiving in Massachusetts that made one feel just a wee bit smug, because we lived where it had all happened, whether it was true or not. Why the rest of the U.S. also got a day off didn't quite make sense to me. They didn't have anything to do with the Pilgrims. It's odd to think those people sailed across an ocean to the new world to escape religious persecution only to have a nation founded that enshrined the separation of church and state, only to then morph into the most religious democracy in the west. Would it be too much of a stretch to call the States a theocracy? But I digress. I couldn't understand the rest of the U.S. celebrating Thanksgiving any more than I could understand Florida celebrating Christmas. There was no snow, nowhere for the reindeer to land, and--worst of all--poor Santa would work up one mean sweat flying over Florida in his winter coat. I had a winter coat and I knew for sure I wouldn't wear it if I was in Florida. I knew Christmas belonged wherever it snowed, and Thanksgiving belonged in Massachusetts. In the geography of holidays, I figured I was in just about as perfect a place as one could ask for.