How the Grinch stole Thanksgiving

Aaron Wells

Reporter

11-28-2000, Sagebrush

Each year it becomes more clear to me that the less related I am to the people I eat Thanksgiving dinner with, the better a time I have. Last year I spent my first Thanksgiving away from my nuclear family and ate with my Aunt and Uncle in San Jose. It was bliss. None of my father shouting at my brother about weed, none of my mother effecting a fake sense of peace and tranquility, no sitting around, trapped in my own home watching football to be polite. No turkey leftovers.

This year was even better. I ate Thanksgiving with my girlfriend and her friends that I'd never met before. Thanksgiving with strangers. It was nirvana.

As much as I'm told that I should try to be with my loved ones for the holidays, it never seems worth it. I love my family, but even when I'm at my best, the stress of getting to them at the same time that everyone else is getting to theirs cancels out any joy of reunion.

As I lose my childhood stupidity, the holidays become more and more empty. I get a dull ache in my stomach from trying to keep it genuine in the face of people trying to make money off of every part of every holiday. Now that Dr. Seuss is completely dead, there's even a highly merchandised movie of his anti-consumerist Grinch story, and a Visa commercial saying flat out that the Grinch could have been wrong, and gifts really are Christmas.

Well, hell, then if Christmas really is just about the gifts, Thanksgiving just about the food and New Years' just about the booze, then we shouldn't kid ourselves any longer. Anyone could have a good time just eating a good meal. But when you're told that you should feel wistful, and you don't it turns into a national morbid depression.

Personally, self-deception gives me an ulcer (that's why I'm not religious). I think from now on I'll just spend the holidays alone, stress free, and love my family the other 350-odd days of the year, when Hallmark's not looking. I hope they'll still send me presents.