This was my first time actually celebrating Thanksgiving in years, since I attended university in Quebec. My parents divided and conquered this year to make sure my brother wasn’t alone or overwhelmed - they normally see family friends during Thanksgiving but since last year every other guy at my brother’s group home went home for Thanksgiving and my brother was alone with the group home staff, they decided to divide. My mom and I would visit the family friends my parents usually visited for Thanksgiving when I was at university, and my dad would cook Thanksgiving meals with my brother. They would then visit Jen and Mark (the family friends) for dessert.

So my mom and I were taking the Commuter train into Boston, which was already a new experience for me. Due to my Transportation Access Pass, my ticket was half-price, so only $3.50, but we didn’t know when the train people would check the ticket so I kept my TAPass out the entire ride. Then when we got to what I thought was our stop, the train woman wouldn’t let us leave before informing us ten minutes later we had missed the stop.  So we just left the train at its last stop. I used my phone to input the address for Jen and Mark’s apartment building.

There were multiple problems with getting to Thanksgiving “dinner” on time: the fact we had been let off at a different train stop than expected, the pouring rain the wind whipped into our faces, the fact my mom forgot an umbrella, and her eyesight getting worse meant I had to read the street signs in spite of my glasses also being waterlogged. So the trek there was cold, felt long, and was also near enough to highways it not only felt long but also felt a bit dangerous as well. My boots were waterproof, but my feet were the only part of my body un-drenched. Mark said I looked damp when we finally arrived.

I put dinner in quotation marks because they started eating at 3 in the afternoon (15 hours international time I think). Mom and I arrived at around 15:20. Jen's mom and sister and Jen and Mark's son who's my age Ethan were all there. The meal itself was interesting - the Nana, as Jen's mom called herself, continually stole pieces of food from Valerie, Jen's sister, and Valerie vocally protested, but it all appeared to be part of a game the group played every Thanksgiving, or at least in good fun anyway. I laughed and occasionally tried to contribute to conversation, mostly being ignored, which was fine by me. After all, I spent most of university ignoring the holiday of Thanksgiving's existence.

Dessert was a feast. Cookies, carrot cake, cranberry pie, a chocolate pie that needed defrosting, and I had carried two pints of ice cream on the train and in the trek of the pouring rain. Chocolate and vanilla ice cream went well with pie, cake, and the various cookies. About half an hour into dessert, Jen announced she had forgotten she had an apple pie in the back as well. I had a slice of the chocolate pie (which I eventually asked to take home with me while Jen's family was getting leftovers of the actual Thanksgiving meal), some chocolate ice cream, and a slice of the apple pie.

Some time between when Ethan and his friends got tired of dessert and moved to the living room, and the chocolate pie was defrosted enough to cut into, my dad and brother arrived for dessert. They had driven, which meant my mom and I didn't have to be drenched again while muddling our way through finding a train station. Jake (my brother) was still in repeating mode, so my dad took him to the other room, but I grabbed him a slice of the chocolate pie that he eventually sat down and ate.

Thanksgiving eventually ended, as every holiday inevitably does. I think this year was a good one. I don't know if it made an interesting story, though, that's for everyone else to judge.

Thanksgiving is a big question mark for me. Don't get me wrong; I love turkey and cranberry sauce. the stuffing( cornbread or bread, depending on what part of the U.S. you happen to celebrate in), and most of all, the desserts! All the desserts! I'm not picky at all!

However, when I think about the history of " The First Thanksgiving," I wonder, Is this a tradition I feel proud to carry on? When these thoughts come, I think about why I celebrate Thanksgiving. I am thankful for my family and friends. a roof over my head and food on the table. I believe we are all thankful for many things in our lives; I believe this is why most of us celebrate Thanksgiving. To remember all we are thankful for. To spend time with family and friends. But the biggest reason is all that delicious food!! Just kidding. :)

I am English in America. I am a recovered anorexic. Suffice to say, thanksgiving is an unfathomable knot for me.

I asked, 'What do you do at thanksgiving?'

I was told, 'We eat.'

I asked whether there was an element of gratitude.

Multiple parties laughed. Some shrugged. I was told giving thanks was cheesy; they fed back that you might, if you had kids?

I read a little and spoke to some of my more left-wing friends. It turns out the holiday has deep roots in colonialism. The colonialism which continues to oppress the people who were here first. In a giftshop on a reservation, I leave saying, 'Happy Thanksgiving'. Thoughtless; I curse myself.

Spirals of regrets around a holiday that isn't mine. This feeling is alien and it sits on me as I pick at carrots with gravy from a paper plate.