A Pilgrim holiday (a sixth grade essay)
Once in a while, I meet an innocent ignoramus who'll ask me with a straight face: "do they celebrate Thanksgiving in Russia?" I usually reply, "Well, it's a holiday celebrating the Pilgrims arriving in America, so, no."
Russians celebrate Thanksgiving here, though. I'd say that for most, it's the one big holiday with which all have developed a connection, even the skeptical ones, like my parents.
It's actually become my absolute favorite holiday, even better than New Year and my birthday (past a certain age, birthday just... lose their festivity).
Our first Thanksgiving here was...
It needs backdrop.
Back in Russia, we lived in what would here be a 1 bedroom apartment: mom, dad, myself, grandma, and grandma's sister. My mom postulates that she never felt like the three of us were ever an independent family unit until we left Russia, and she's probably right.
We arrived to Boston in April 1990 as part of the late 80s early 90s wave of immigration. Uncertainty was abound among the ranks. On day 3 of American life, my dad went to work "under the table" as a jeweler downtown; my mom signed up for typing courses at the community college; I was registered for school. We rented an apartment about a month and a half after. It was whirlwindish.
By the time November came around, we were old hands at living American; I was kicked out of ESL classes for speaking English too well, Dad had had his first raise (from $6 to $8 an hour), we figured out free dental care at Children's hospital, and Mom was working as a clerk at Party Favors on Chauncy Street. This job becomes material for our finally complete and functional family unit learning to celebrate Thanksgiving and forming our own tradition because her manager ended up explaining why the day off on Thursday, and sharing his mother's turkey recipe (it's all about the orange juice).
On the day, the turkey made it into the oven around 10 am, and we decided to go for a walk while it was cooking.
It was a blustery Boston November day. It was cold and windy, and I recall, for some reason, sand in my eyes and plastic bags rolling around the pavement like tumbleweed. We walked down Beacon St, which appeared to be eerily empty. Everything was closed and there were no people on the streets. We walked all the way into the city. By the time we made it, we were freezing, and wanted to have something warm to drink, but everything was closed. We walked to South Station, where things were open, and had ... oh god... had 2 hot chocolates for the 3 of us... a huge expenditure at that time...
We took the T back home. The turkey was almost ready. I distinctly remember that there was still a half hour left for the final step, which was to remove the cheesecloth and allow the skin to get browned and crispy.
We sat down, just the three of us, and ate it with stuffing and cranberry sauce...
It was easily the best day ever.
Indeed, we have a lot to be thankful for: we came here umpteen years ago with nothing seeking freedoms not available to us in our previous homeland, not unlike the Pilgrims of yore, and have been welcomed and allowed to create a spot for ourselves within the mosaic of the community. It was like arriving to an event, and looking for a seat, and having some people shift over and let you sit next to them, make room for you so you can be a part of what they're a part of... We're kind of Pilgrims in a way, so the idea behind Thanksgiving resonates - at least for me.
Russians celebrate Thanksgiving here, though. I'd say that for most, it's the one big holiday with which all have developed a connection, even the skeptical ones, like my parents.
It's actually become my absolute favorite holiday, even better than New Year and my birthday (past a certain age, birthday just... lose their festivity).
Our first Thanksgiving here was...
It needs backdrop.
Back in Russia, we lived in what would here be a 1 bedroom apartment: mom, dad, myself, grandma, and grandma's sister. My mom postulates that she never felt like the three of us were ever an independent family unit until we left Russia, and she's probably right.
We arrived to Boston in April 1990 as part of the late 80s early 90s wave of immigration. Uncertainty was abound among the ranks. On day 3 of American life, my dad went to work "under the table" as a jeweler downtown; my mom signed up for typing courses at the community college; I was registered for school. We rented an apartment about a month and a half after. It was whirlwindish.
By the time November came around, we were old hands at living American; I was kicked out of ESL classes for speaking English too well, Dad had had his first raise (from $6 to $8 an hour), we figured out free dental care at Children's hospital, and Mom was working as a clerk at Party Favors on Chauncy Street. This job becomes material for our finally complete and functional family unit learning to celebrate Thanksgiving and forming our own tradition because her manager ended up explaining why the day off on Thursday, and sharing his mother's turkey recipe (it's all about the orange juice).
On the day, the turkey made it into the oven around 10 am, and we decided to go for a walk while it was cooking.
It was a blustery Boston November day. It was cold and windy, and I recall, for some reason, sand in my eyes and plastic bags rolling around the pavement like tumbleweed. We walked down Beacon St, which appeared to be eerily empty. Everything was closed and there were no people on the streets. We walked all the way into the city. By the time we made it, we were freezing, and wanted to have something warm to drink, but everything was closed. We walked to South Station, where things were open, and had ... oh god... had 2 hot chocolates for the 3 of us... a huge expenditure at that time...
We took the T back home. The turkey was almost ready. I distinctly remember that there was still a half hour left for the final step, which was to remove the cheesecloth and allow the skin to get browned and crispy.
We sat down, just the three of us, and ate it with stuffing and cranberry sauce...
It was easily the best day ever.
Indeed, we have a lot to be thankful for: we came here umpteen years ago with nothing seeking freedoms not available to us in our previous homeland, not unlike the Pilgrims of yore, and have been welcomed and allowed to create a spot for ourselves within the mosaic of the community. It was like arriving to an event, and looking for a seat, and having some people shift over and let you sit next to them, make room for you so you can be a part of what they're a part of... We're kind of Pilgrims in a way, so the idea behind Thanksgiving resonates - at least for me.
Comments