By Judith Gayle | Political Waves
It’s a rarity when the first day of Hanukkah and Thanksgiving fall on the same day. We can look forward to that happening again in 77,798 years. That is, of course, if there IS a Hanukkah or a Thanksgiving in 77,798 years. Think how much the two occasions have changed in, say, the last hundred. Thanksgiving would be only barely recognizable, and this year, both holidays seem to be mere distractions from the great shop-a-thon that won’t allow cash registers to stop humming until Monday next (if then). And although we’re only half-way through the push at this writing, I’d be surprised if the reports of shootings, stabbings and fist fights in the pursuit of sales don’t break previous Black Friday records.
Hopefully the festivities on Thursday produced less grim statistics. We each have traditions regarding the national day of thanks, most centered around food, family and television. I’m assuming that prior to television and a less mobile nation that kept family close by, it was mostly about the food. And although there are some exceptions, that means that this holiday was designed, orchestrated and accomplished by women who did more than boil the turkey handed them in a pot; they created an occasion.
Ultimately, I think that how we feel about this holiday speaks volumes about how we feel about our parents. Our appreciation, hostility or disdain for the festivities of the season are shrouded in the dreaded “family dynamic” — a loaded topic — but today I’d like to focus on the part women play in establishing values and creating balance.
My mother loved two things besides Dad and me, Coke with lots of ice and her toy poodles. She was an avid football fan and she never missed a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. One of those cheerful morning people, she was invariably up with the dawn, getting a jump on stuffing the turkey, baking pies and tuning in the early West coast broadcast of Santa’s official arrival. Born a night owl, I was indifferent to her attempts to get me up to enjoy it with her. I would usually stumble out of bed just as the last of the balloons and marching bands swept by, followed by Santa’s sleigh and final panoramic views of the crowds. She would pour me coffee (mostly milk when I was little) and fill me in on all the wonders I’d missed.