Thanksgiving: Pilgrims and Indians Revised - Long Essay

A photo of my mother and grandmother-The Russian Side of my Family

This counts for one of my long essays.

Thanksgiving Day brings to mind a day of feasting, table(s) heaped with turkey, tofurky, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, and the ever-present pumpkin pie. Except the pumpkin pie wasn’t present that Thanksgiving, nor was much else on the “traditional Thanksgiving menu. My mother and I immigrated to the United States from Russia when I was seven, leaving all friends and relations behind. In her loneliness for her daughter and granddaughter, my grandmother visited us one Thanksgiving. It was my family’s turn to host the Thanksgiving festivities and through a series of odd events, the only person available to cook for the Thanksgiving meal was my grandmother. My mother began the day by cooking mashed potatoes, turkey, and throwing together a salad, but the majority of the Thanksgiving preparation was left to my grandmother, who had been in America a grand total of two weeks and had never heard of a Thanksgiving celebration, much less observed one.
As the afternoon progressed, my grandmother busied herself preparing borscht, cranberry salad, Russian potato salad, and all manner of delicious ethnic desserts. She spent hours preparing her best-loved delicacies for my immediate family and my stepfather’s family. There was only one problem: the plates she prepared didn’t fall under the “traditional” Thanksgiving food plan. So when the entire Harris clan herded into the dining room, there was a moment of awkward silence. The food placed before the children was dubbed as “weird” and everyone looked skeptically about the room as my grandmother waited in anticipation for all to try her offering of love.
Once the prayer of thanks had been uttered, each member (save the Russian extension of the family) sampled the new Thanksgiving fare. As it should be with all days of celebration, the food turned out wonderfully and the day was spent in humorous companionship and enjoyment. That Thanksgiving was the best, most profound holiday I have ever had, for it was the last time that I saw my grandmother and that was the day I found the true meaning of holidays and family. Because the food laid out on the table didn’t matter (even though it was DELICIOUS and none of us could move an inch after consuming copious amounts of it), what mattered was my family’s readiness to accept my grandmother’s heritage and her attempt to celebrate our new culture. No matter what the plan is or what the expectations for a particular celebration are, the things that make a holiday a day of joy is the company and love surrounding a family. For what greater blessing can one be grateful for on Thanksgiving than a loving family and a good life.