Why Do We Don T Celebrate Thanksgiving

I didn’t experience my first Thanksgiving until I was 10 years old. For millions of Americans, Thanksgiving is a day for feasting on immense portions of food, watching football, and napping on the couch. However, for most of my life, it was just an ordinary day like any other, in which I was allowed to miss school, play games, and even watch some TV. It wasn’t because I didn’t know about Thanksgiving. I knew it was the reason why my teacher spent the days leading up to it having us make hand turkeys and watch the Charlie Brown special in class, but my family never celebrated it. I never realized how strange that was until I shared it with a friend the week before. “What do you mean you don't celebrate Thanksgiving?!” he exclaimed. I recall the awkward predicament this put me in,
as the entire class stared, astounded by his words. As soon as I got home that day, I had a serious conversation with my parents in Tigrinya, their native language, hoping to get to the bottom of this.
I asked them why we never celebrated Thanksgiving and I was in disbelief of their response. They simply claimed that they had never celebrated the holiday themselves when they grew up in Eritrea. I informed them that I would like to celebrate the holiday for fear of being ostracized by my peers. They seemed skeptical about my proposal, but nonetheless wanted to learn whatever they could about “Give-thanks,” as they called it, with their broken English. I explained the historical background behind the holiday as learned in school, about how the pilgrims arrived on the Mayflower and shared the first Give-thanks with the Native Americans. Next came the difficult part: explaining how to celebrate the darn thing. I remember giving a vague description about how families were supposed to eat a lot of food together and share whatever they were thankful for. My parents were intrigued by this and decided that we could celebrate Give-thanks, my mother called our closest relatives on the phone and invited them to dinner on
Thursday. On that Thursday, while families were celebrating Thanksgiving, we celebrated Give-thanks. I remember clamor of my favorite relatives as they entered the house bearing traditional Eritrean platters, some of the more assimilated ones bearing American dishes, ready to celebrate this new holiday. My brother and I helped my parents set the table; I was responsible for rounding up the kids for dinner, and we gathered together in the dining room to eat. I distinctly remember the delicious blend of foods bestowed upon us—the spicy scent of Eritrean food mixed with the rich, mellow smell of American comfort cuisine. I engulfed a ridiculous amount of food, everything from mac 'n' cheese to tsebhi, a curry-like sauce with small chunks of beef inside. It was a tremendous sight to see my entire family together, sharing stories, telling jokes, and having a great time. My dear grandmother, the head of the family, compared her Give-thanks experience to her Christmases in Eritrea. After dinner, we partook in traditional boon, a coffee drinking ceremony where we engage in conversation with one another, of course, only the adults could drink the coffee. I saw this time as the perfect opportunity for everyone to share what they were thankful for. I went first, and said I was thankful for all the food.
Soon after, the guests left, taking leftovers with them. My parents, my younger brother, and I were left to clean up the mess. While cleaning I realized that I made a grave mistake: I forgot to tell my parents about the turkey, the one thing that would’ve made Give-thanks complete. When I confessed my embarrassing mistake to my mom, she looked at me, smiled, and said: “No worries, we’ll be sure to get one next year.”