I Had Pizza on Thanksgiving…
Who cares, right? Apparently many people do.
In the days following Thanksgiving, I was often found myself in the usual post-holiday conversational social banter. While most bragged about big meals with family, traditions, travel and so forth, here’s how my interactions went.
Them: How was your Thanksgiving?
Them: Did you do anything?
Me: Nope. Just sat home with my dog…
Them: Oh, that’s sad. Did you eat turkey at least?
Me: Nope. I made a pizza.
It’s about that point in the conversation where everyone I said that to would just stare blankly at me before asking “why didn’t you eat turkey? It’s Thanksgiving.”
I was told many times by many people that I’m weird (like it was the first time in my life I’d heard that). They’d look at me like I a mutant who violated some horrific moral code.
How dare I do something so offensive?
I didn’t feel guilty for eating pizza, but others did everything in their power to make me think I did something wrong. What’s sad is I felt obligated to explain myself.
Them: Why would you eat pizza, that’s just not normal.
Me: I wanted pizza.
Them: Yeah, but its Thanksgiving. Eating turkey is what you do.
Me: It’s not what I do…
I had one person explain the concept of Thanksgiving to me (almost yelling at me), telling me I’m supposed to eat turkey, because it’s tradition. I know most people do eat turkey on Thanksgiving, but I don’t care what they do…
My tradition is eating a pizza.
Because I want to.
I’m thankful for many things, but eating a dead bird doesn’t define my values, nor does it define how grateful I am for what I have in my life.
I’ll probably eat pizza next year on Thanksgiving too. And Christmas, and my birthday and Easter and whenever else I please.
Because I can.
That’s something to be thankful for.