Confessions of a vegan celebrating Turkey Day

In 1621, the Plymouth colony settlers hosted a feast to celebrate the bountiful harvest. They had worked tirelessly all season to produce their yield, which now adorned the long table in the form of mashed potatoes and cornbread. As they indulged and discussed who gave who the latest bout of scurvy, they decided to establish their dinner as a tradition. Then, they proceeded to ask, “How can we make vegans look as idiotic as possible on this day from here on out?”

Suddenly, Thanksgiving was born–and the turkey was killed. Turkey was then stuffed into every morsel of food on the table, and nothing changed for 400 years. Now, I sit at the Thanksgiving table, plate piled high with nothing but two pieces of lettuce and a dollop of cranberry sauce, thanking my pilgrim ancestors for their consideration.

Aside from the fact that I can’t eat the rolls because my grandma already poured butter on them, I can’t eat the stuffing because my uncle decided it would taste better with bacon bits and I can’t even put dressing on my salad because all we have is ranch, what I dread most is the “roundtable of interrogation.” In simpler terms, this is the moment when I, instead of the giant bird on the table, start to feel like the victim of the day, dodging endless questions about if I’m getting enough protein or if I’m sure I can’t try my Aunt’s ham casserole.

But then, it comes time to take turns listing what we are thankful for. Despite the hassle and slight embarrassment that comes with being vegan on a family holiday centered around the consumption of a roasted bird, I am thankful on Thanksgiving, on the day after Thanksgiving, and on every day that follows.

What I experience on days like these is representative of the small annoyances of our everyday lives, of the minor moments when the world doesn’t seem to be on our side. Sometimes, we  let a bad quiz score or an argument with someone we care about control the fate of our day. However, when you zoom out, like really thinking about what you’re thankful for at the Thanksgiving dinner table, you realize that these diminutive irritations don’t mean much in comparison to all of the big, wonderful parts of life.

Instead of remembering Thanksgiving as the day that I was infinitely aggravated and temporarily ostracized, I want to remember that this Thanksgiving, I was able to spend time with family,  be surrounded by an abundance of food, volunteer, and reflect.

So I hope you enjoyed your turkey this Thanksgiving, and I hope you let important memories of love and happiness define your life rather than trivial moments of frustration.