Week Forty Five: Thanksgiving Party

I should warn you that I have a Black Belt when it comes to Thanksgiving writing. You’re talking, after all, to the third-place winner in the 1996 Collegiate Associated Press contest in editorial writing. That doesn’t sound nearly as exciting as the Buckeye News Hawk Award, but I tout this award as much as Uncle Rico touts that game coach shoulda put him in because they would have won state.

Here’s the invitation to this turkey of a party:

To our Thanksgiving Party

We want to invite you,

The things that we’ve planned

We’re sure will delight you.

Turkeys and Red Men

Pilgrim Fathers and Football,

Will help to amuse you,

Making sport for us all.

First of all, rhyming “you” with “you” is a stroke of pure genius. And speaking of strokes, you know the progressives in your crowd are just going to love that line about the Red Men.
As far as decorations go, darn tootin’ crepe paper is involved, along with other elements that “typify the harvest season” such as fruit, vegetables, autumn leaves, plus turkeys, pictures of the Pilgrim fathers or Indian pictures. They’re not clear, but I advise against using live turkeys as decorations. They’re rather cranky birds. Given the season, that’s understandable.

Now, consider this for a moment: What kind of Thanksgiving story do you anticipate will be first out of the box from Cokesbury. Consider the source: conservative Methodists from 1930s Palm Beach, Florida. Already a picture is forming in your mind. Probably something like this:

Here’s what Cokesbury has to say:

Story of Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving to god for blessings received had its beginning with the ancient Jews. They left their homes and dwelt for a week in booths made from the branches of palm, olive, or myrtle trees. The Greeks had a Thanksgiving day called by the Feast of Demeter. The Romans observed a day in honor of Ceres, the fabled goddess of corn fields and gardens. In Old England the Harvest Home festival was observed at the full of the September moon. It was as popular a celebration as Christmas in England, and Queen Elizabeth ordered that there should be no servile labor performed on this day.

Oh, I love to see progressive wharrgarbl stopped mid-garble. Though the hard-cores will still find something wrong with this.

Yes, they go on to talk about Governor Bradford, Massasoit, and the venerable Thanksgiving Turkey. But just as part of the whole. It would do progressives well to give conservatives a little credit once and a while.

And while you’re giving credit, it’s time for a dramatic reading, "The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers," by Felecia Dorothea Hemans:

The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches tossed;

And the heavy night hung dark,
The hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear;
They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard, and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free.
The ocean eagle soared
From his nest by the white wave's foam;
And the rocking pines of the forest roared--
This was their welcome home.

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst the pilgrim band:
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth;
There was manhood's brow, serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?
They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod;
They have left unstained what there they found --
Freedom to worship God.

[Pulls up soapbox] Wharrgarbl away, progressives. No use telling you that, hey, the Puritans did come to the Americas looking for freedom. Were they perfect? No. Were they being persecuted? Yes. So they had to go somewhere else. Do they believe they were led by God? Sure did. Do you have to believe so? No. Do you have to respect that others still maintain that belief? Damn right you do. There is no more hypocritical person on the face of the earth than a progressive who will allow for the good in everyone else on the planet to be accepted as gospel and holy; all but the good the conservatives believe. [Puts away soapbox]

If that’s too dramatic, just let this roll. Same idea gets across. Just be prepared for augmented progressive whaaargarbl.

(For additional amusement, read the YouTube comments on this one. Canadians must still be feeling the sting of their preliminary Olympics loss to the team from the United States.)

Breathe, folks. Breathe. And get ready for Follow the Leader:

Each player is given a sheet of paper and a pencil and some colored crayons. The leader then asks them to prepare for a drawing lesson. The leader begins marking on his paper and tells the guests he is drawing a picture of the “Landing of the Pilgrims,” and as he draws he describes the “Mayflower,” which they are to try to draw from his description. The leader should give the students plenty of time to draw and not rush the scene. He should then describe Plymouth Rock. Some description of the scenery along the coast, the shape of the harbor, and the Indians may be given. Give a prize to the one who draws the best picture.

Then there’s this:

Eggshell Football. Cover a table with white paper and mark off a football field. Goals may be made by driving nails down on each end of the field. Prick a small hole in an egg and empty its contents. There should be two or three eggshells in reserve in case one or more are broken. These eggshells may be painted like a football if desired.

A referee is chosen, and he places the ball in the center of the field. There should be about three players from each end of the table and one on each side of the table from both teams. When the gall goes out of bounds the referee picks it up and places it down near the place where it went off. Players do not start to blow until the whistle is blown, or they may be penalized for being offside. A goal will count six. Change every two minutes and put in six new players. There should be a lot of rooting at this game, and it will be found to be very interesting and lively.

That’s a roundabout way to explain how to play the game, but I think you get the general idea. It makes more sense than any explanation I’ve heard of the rules for real football. And guys, make sure to have someone videotaping your wife’s or girlfriend’s face when you drive those nail goals into her nice wooden table.

And lest you think you’ll get out of this party without at least one more slap at the Red Man, here you go:

Indian Drum Race. Line up in two lines facing each other. Keep the same division as for the other competitive games. One side may be called the Indians and the other the Pilgrims. One person is blindfolded and beats a drum. A dishpan may be substituted, although a trap drum is better. One of the players is given a tin can like a baking powder can, with rocks in it so that it will rattle. As long as the drummer keeps beating, the rattle passes back and forth. The line caught with it when the drum stops loses, while the other side wins five points. When the drum starts again the rattle moves on. Continue the game not longer than five or ten minutes. A piano may be substituted for the drum.

Just don’t hurt the piano. You don’t want to upset Miss Leverlily.

And that’s it. Serve your guests pumpkin pie and coffee, or plum pudding with hot chocolate. An alternative is to go all Charlie Brown on them, or actually dip into your rusty wallet and buy an entire Thanksgiving dinner for them. But then you wouldn’t have time for the Indian Drum Race. Better stick with pie and coffee.

We’re coming to the end, folks. Next week, try a Kid Party, complete with costumes. Please, no diapers and bowed legs.