So the holidays are upon us. Thanksgiving, Robert’s birthday, my birthday, and Christmas. The only ones anyone should pay attention to throughout the year, really. But why do we celebrate those other holidays, Thanksgiving and Christmas? They did not bring such fantastic people such as Robert or I, so what’s the point? Why does anyone bother anymore?
Let’s take a look at our history books, boys and girls, and remind ourselves why those two other holidays muster up such frenzy and fervor amongst retailers, housewives, and decrepit members of society.
Thanksgiving: So some Pilgrims from Plymouth, England decide to take a watery trek across the ocean and embark on a quest to find better lands, escaping the ridiculous rule of the queen and all their silly little rituals like afternoon tea with scones, cricket in the evening, and not being able to tie a giraffe to a lamppost*.
As their journey came to an end, they tallied up the body count as the stomach flu and colds made their rounds through the ship, resulting in a surprisingly high number of young women and middle-aged men (I think it was a set-up done by nature to assure the future existence of gold diggers and pedophiles), and searched out a good camping site. While in the night, the hateful yet unseen eyes of the natives watched them every-so-closely, observing their routines, eying the huts they created, nuturing prejudice against these light-skinned strangers who invited themselves into their property, chopping down their trees and eating their deer, fruits and berries.
Scoundrels.
Actually, the history is a bit skewed and everyone thinks that the original Thanksgiving had to do with the Pilgrims slaughtering Native Americans then befriending (or is that enslaving?) them in order to survive the winter.
Well, that part is kind of correct. It just has to do with human nature and the fact that if we don’t understand it, we usually want to destroy it or prod at it until we discover something. In this instance, the very first Thanksgiving was indeed based on bloodshed and gravy**. But after a while, the settlers decided that the Native Americans were pretty tight (yo’) and a few years later had already made amends with the tribe and even the infamous Squanto (who actually was a British slave for a while), entertaining the little heathens and fattening them up.
And just who else do you think this thanks was given to? God, of course. The British bastards forced their religion and beliefs on these people who were as spiritually different as Tammy Faye Baker and Ron Jeremy, and decided that anyone who doesn’t believe in their God just didn’t deserve to be in their company. So instead of ridding the colony of the people who helped them survive, pilgrims made the Native Americans “better” and taught them to give thanks to not only each other but to God, the everlasting all-powerful deity of the decade.
Aww, such a touching story. So go butter up those turkeys, prepare your stuffing, and spike that eggnog – for Thursday night, we dine… IN HELL!***
Come back in a few weeks for another pleasant recap when I visit the historical roots of Christmas and that whole mistletoe business.
*I actually did not make this last one up, though the old, unrevised law is only viable in Atlanta, Georgia
**Mm, blood gravy.
***Disclaimer: Most people may not actually be dining in Hell.
