“What I’m Thankful For” (or “Not Today, Satan”)
Thursday, November 28, 2024
Every year at the family Thanksgiving dinner, we do what all the good, white-privileged families do before eating: we pray. We stand in a circle holding hands around the kitchen table. Somebody gets nominated by my father to have the honor of saying grace.
Being an atheist, I try every year not to bow my head when someone starts praying, but every year it’s like a preacher’s Pavlov’s bell - -my head nods down. My eyes stay open, and I lift my head back upright almost immediately, but that initial nod is always there.
Grace goes the same way every year. It begins with someone saying, “Heavenly Father, we thank thee for our food and our health…” the way Grandma always used to start it. And then, usually through tears, some variation of, “…for the brave men who gave their lives for our freedom to live in the greatest country in the world…” And finally, “we ask it/pray for it in Jesus’s name. Amen.”
And then everyone lifts their heads, opens their eyes, and says, “Amen” together in unison.
I hate it. I wish I didn’t feel like I have to do it. It provokes anxiety, self-loathing, and bitterness. Frankly, given the things I went through as a gay teenager in a conservative household, it’s triggering. Organized religion has not been kind to me, and I see no reason to embrace its rituals and norms. It disgusts me when I ruminate on it.
So I think I’m going to exempt myself from the prayer circle this year. That will come with its own set of anxieties. But I’m tired of bowing my head when I don’t need to, want to, or mean to. Tired of the uncomfortableness, the sheepishness, the bad taste it all leaves in my mouth. I’ll just excuse myself the way I did one Christmas when I excused myself from taking Communion. (Which, by the way, went over about as well as you’d expect. But they don’t ask me to take Communion any more, and I consider that a win.)
After the prayer’s dutiful amen, and while we’re still standing sweaty palm-to-palm, we do what all the good, white-privileged families do after they pray at Thanksgiving: we each say something we’re thankful for.
A lot of people and families do this. I understand the intention. But we don’t do it before any other meal throughout the year. We don’t practice gratitude formally or regularly. It’s just once a year, after an uncomfortable prayer, that we put everyone on the spot to espouse gratitude. To say something poignant and profound, but simple and humble and socially acceptable. Nothing that would cause a ruckus unless you’re one of the conservative people in my family (which is my whole family). Then you can be thankful for God and country and the second amendment and freedom and the troops and the flag and the flag troops and the eagles in the sky and the troops again.
So I think I’m going to politely say, “I’m going to pass this year,” when it’s my turn to conform. It’s not that I’m not grateful for anything. I am. But it’s been a hard year. Losing Lucy was awful. The election result was awful. Preparing for what’s ahead is awful. Putting on a happy face and pretending like what’s happening is normal, status-quo, just another regular old Thanksgiving is awful. What they voted for to happen is awful. The Palestinian genocide is awful. The disinformation campaigns are awful. Going through your list of friends and sorting them into formalized stacks of “trustworthy” and “I don’t know” and “definitely not trustworthy” is awful. Realizing your family goes in the “definitely not trustworthy” stack is one of the most awful processes I’ve ever gone through. Applying for passports “just in case” is awful. Socking away cash money “just in case” is awful. Planning out a peer network to help prepare for “just in case” is awful. Writing down on paper about what steps you’ll need to take if you truly need to go into hiding is awful.
It’s not a normal Thanksgiving year. These are not normal times. There’s too much racing through my mind every second for me to pretend like everything is okay when it’s not. I’m too tired to put up with my Dad’s dismissiveness this year, or his unwitting cruelty, or his triggering words and actions. I’m too tired to participate in religious ritual. I’m too angry to tacitly participate in typical tradition.
So I don’t think I will.
And if I get pressed to participate, I may very well have a ready-to-read written list of the people and things I am grateful for. How much of that list will I be permitted to get through before being firmly asked to stop? I’d give it until a Rachel Maddow or a Bernie Sanders. Maybe sooner considering the first thing on my list will be the Supreme Court ruling that gave me the same right as my peers to marry the individual I love.