This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Buffalo chapter.
Every holiday brings with it an aura. There is something in the air that is telling of the holiday we are around.
The shining sun, flying frisbees, barbecue flavored dry breeze for the 4th of July;
Snow covered lawn, hot chocolate, random rounds of carols, one can tell Christmas is now near.
The festive season seeps into the veins of our immediate atmosphere and an ambience of celebration takes over.
Like all these festivities, Thanksgiving has a charm of its own. The customary holding of the hands before breaking the first bite of the smoked turkey seemed rather futile to me during the years I was at home. Now that I am away, I dearly miss it. Not just the turkey or the wine, but the rush with which we would set the table up. The last minute quarrels between the elders in the house over what wine to serve or which table cloth to use. The barrage of family members that would storm our house for Thanksgiving would seem overwhelming, but would make me feel complete. The uncle I would barely see the entire year would inevitably show up on this day, with a different female friend every year who would sit awkwardly listening to the pointless banter of our family. Thanksgiving for us was always crowded, loud, but charming. The same routine of holding hands, eating smouldered turkey, drinking expensive wine, and endless laughter will unfold in a week’s time, only that I wouldn’t be there. Here I am vicariously enjoying Thanksgiving by writing about it. Sad it may sound, it really isn’t that bad for I have memories that I often put on replay mode. There is one last ritual that I must mention before I turn to complete the paper that awaits my attention – “What are you thankful for ?”. I would either be stumped by that question or spew a constant two worded phrase that I plagiarized from a gift card. After all these years of realizing the significance of that question and of its answer, I am glad my answer has not changed, only that it is no longer a borrowed one. It’s my very own – “My family”.
