A Thanksgiving surprise, served with pasta and perspective
by Margot Callahan, contributing writer
What is it about being American that makes us think that we’re the center of the world? It’s an interesting psychological quirk, that fortunately, isn’t only American. Ask anyone from almost any place in the world, and they will say that their country is the best place to live.
Oddly, when traveling in other countries, we Americans, when asked, “What’s your nationality?” will say that we’re Irish or German or wherever our ancestors came from. No, we’re Americans. Then, take it from me, when you’re asked where you live, be prepared to go large – you can start by saying, “Pittsburgh, PA”, but be prepared to skip, “which is in Southwest Pennsylvania, a state on the east coast of the country,” and jump right to, “it’s west of New York.” When you say New York, most people will give you an “Oh!” and say they have a relative, even a second cousin on their great uncle’s side, who’s been there.
Holidays are ingrained into our American world from the moment we’re born. I was born the day before Valentine’s Day, and my mom was hoping for a little valentine. Are you a patriot born on the 4th of July or a little spooky because you were born on Oct 31st, or a forgotten child because you were born on December 25th and no one ever remembers your birthday?
My Americanism didn’t come into full bloom until I lived overseas. Americans are often the easiest to pick out of a foreign crowd because of our good teeth, bright, comfortable clothing for any venue, (most cultures dress up more than we do and aren’t as showy) and synthetic shoes. And we sure do act a certain way. Our open faces and self-assured attitude can be both appealing and off-putting. And don’t get me started about how loud we can be in public compared to some other cultures.
I was thirty years old on the fourth Thursday in November in Italy and greeted my Italian roommates with “Happy Thanksgiving!” They regarded me with the usual amused look reserved for my foreign and often left-of-center ideas, because, unfortunately, I was uninformed about most international goings-on. Like many Americans, my geography skills were poor, and I didn’t have much, if any knowledge about what side and why countries fought in wars other than WWII. This got me into trouble every now and then. As Americans, we are pretty comfortable with our neighbors and have only fought wars far from our borders over the past 80 years.
I knew something wasn’t right, but I continued, smiling broadly, “Are we having turkey today? I’m happy to buy it.”
How had I made it to such an age and not have made the connection that Thanksgiving is a purely American tradition? Why did I lump it in with Christmas, a holiday that is tied to a religion that is worldwide? (I blame it on studying Italian and having trouble organizing my thoughts, or, have you read the title of this story?)
We all laughed and they graciously suggested that we make a meal that mirrored, as much as possible, in a country that doesn’t have turkeys, a traditional American Thanksgiving. As Italian tradition would have it, there certainly was pasta on the menu.
It was that really embarrassing moment that I understood that being American doesn’t have anything to do with yelling, “U-S-A” at international events or when you were born. To me, being American is being lucky enough to have the option of gathering around a table full of food, with people who are important, and being safe and free. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.
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About the author: Margot Callahan called Highland Park home, but now enjoys the beauty of Lancaster County. Writing for many years, she now shares her short stories with others.
