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?

Me:  Fine

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.