Today is Thanksgiving Day.

I grew up in a household where we actually celebrated Turkey Day, which is pretty weird if you think about it, considering that while my mom, brothers, and I are Americans, we are not white people. And if you think about it, the whole origin of the holiday is not exactly reason for us non-Caucasians to jump up and down with glee.

However, my mom is totally the human equivalent of a Nutter Butter cookie. (The more common phrase is 'Oreo cookie', but in Mom's case, she's brown on the outside, white on the inside.) So every year in my childhood, we'd do the whole thing: the turkey, the stuffing, the cranberry jelly, the pumpkin pie. And it's not like I minded, at least not until I developed enough sentience to consider what, in fact, we were celebrating. (Not to mention my belated realization that, while stuffing, cranberry jelly, and pumpkin pie are indeed grand and glorious things, roast turkey is truly not much more, taste-wise, than an adequate platform for copious amounts of gravy. Gak, I feel guilty and traitorous just typing that.)

So anyway, when I married Dean, I pretty much stopped celebrating Thanksgiving, except for the occasional lunch with my mom in the years when it occurred to me. But now I sort of feel that I should introduce Sage to the holiday, since it is, one way or the other, part of her family heritage. After all, I may not think much of the marginalization and exploitation of the original Americans, but I can appreciate setting a day aside each year to take stock of blessings and be thankful. I'm still a little ambivalent about the whole deal, though...

So today, Sagey and I shared a turkey sandwich. I like it well enough with horseradish Dijon, and any excuse to go out and hang with Mommy is okay by her. It's a start.