Thanksgiving. A celebration of that one time Pocahontas introduced John Smith to cranberry sauce. I have often reflected on the poignance of Thanksgiving: the joy it brings, the mouths it feeds, the way it appropriately articulates the plight of the indigenous peoples in the United States. Unfortunately, however, I have become aware that Thanksgiving is not ubiquitously celebrated. In fact, some people have come to dread Thanksgiving.
This is particularly true for an anorexic turkey I have befriended. Whereas other turkeys have spent the previous months beefing up for turkey season, Anorexic Turkey has become anxious and depressed over the prospect of having a pound of stuffing inserted into his cavity.
“The way I assert a feeling of control over my life is by restricting what I eat. When I’m skinny, I feel in control. Thanksgiving is taking away my control,” Anorexic Turkey confided in me.
This was jarring for me to hear. Who hasn’t watched the Thanksgiving turkey being stuffed and felt a tingling jealous feeling? Anorexic Turkey, it would seem. Not only has Anorexic Turkey’s mental health taken a turn for the worse, but he’s also feeling excluded from his community. “I am suffocated by a culture of bulbous-breasted turkeys. I’m a skinny turkey, and beauty culture hates me for being a skinny turkey. My only hope now is that President Biden pardons me, but my hopes are slimmer than I am.”
Wow. Anorexic Turkey has changed my entire perspective on Thanksgiving. How could I not have recognized that Thanksgiving caters to a revisionist history perpetuated by the majority; a revisionist history that ignores stories like that of Anorexic Turkey. It’s time to do better.
