I have never been a fan of Thanksgiving.
As a child, I thought of it as “that boring holiday between Halloween and Christmas”, and found it insulting somehow that such a boring holiday would dare to follow Halloween.
The false history related to the holiday has made me dislike it even more as I’ve gotten older, along with the more trivial, but beyond exhausting, issues that come with being a retail worker this time of year. I can’t find a single thing to like about the holiday itself, and yet I realize there’s a part of me that clings to it.
Thanksgiving is autumn’s underwhelming, not-so-grand finale. I think of it a lot like the firework show I went to when I was twelve. Somehow, someone screwed up and the finale came at the beginning. The entire show was backwards. Rapid flashes of color lit up the sky, exciting everyone for what was to come, but instead of the pace picking up even more, things slowed down, until the show came to an end with one meek little white flash. The excitement had already come and gone.
That’s kind of how autumn feels, isn’t it?
The beauty of it is in the beginning, when the leaves are vibrant and the spooky promise of Halloween whispers to us in that first breath of chilly air. Though Thanksgiving is often marketed as the bigger, or at least, more important, holiday, Halloween always feels like the true culmination of autumn; the grand finale even though there’s still so much time left in the season. Despite the fact that the winter solstice is still nearly two months away, the color slowly drains out of everything, and Thanksgiving comes in like that last weak little flicker, reminding us that autumn hasn’t left, but is basically dead.
October is the celebration of life, while November is the acceptance, or at least admittance, of death. It’s a transitional period in both nature and in the mind for most.
And for me, Thanksgiving is, in some ways, a final goodbye.
I think one of the reasons I always hated Thanksgiving is because I learned quickly that once it’s over, it takes what was left of autumn with it. The scarecrows and pumpkins that managed to survive the mass rip-down of Halloween decor at the beginning of the month finally disappear, and the Christmas season officially begins. Those last little pieces of autumn fall away, and I am left with the reminder that my time of year is really and truly done with now.
Even as a child who loved Christmas, this was always bittersweet. When I would decorate the living room, my mother would often allow me to leave the pumpkins up, removing the ghosts and black cats and witches, because pumpkins could be a sign of Thanksgiving too. I delighted in this, but I always knew who I was, and so did the pumpkins. Thanksgiving was my lesser way of holding onto Halloween for just a little bit longer.An excuse for pumpkins and scarecrows and cornstalks, but also a reminder that the final goodbye was near.
While I have learned to make every day Halloween, I still can’t help but feel that bittersweetness with the coming of Thanksgiving, when the final scarecrows and pumpkins, the last signs that Halloween ever existed in the outside world in the first place, disappear for another year.
But with that said, I am truly thankful for what I’ve become, and the way I’ve been able to make my life an eternal celebration of Halloween. I am thankful for the people I’ve met who make a community of individuals who feel the same way I do, which I once thought was impossible. I’m thankful for the artists that make such lovely pieces that help keep the spirit alive all year round, and for every piece I’ve been able to add to my collection. Ultimately, I’m just truly thankful that Halloween exists, and has made me feel the way it does for my entire life. I don’t know who I’d be without it.
Stay spooky, my friends.
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