🦃 The Great Thanksgiving Gobble-Down

I didn’t originally plan on moving to the North Pole.

It’s cold.

Very cold.

Turkeys are not exactly famous for winter sports.

But one November I heard people talking about Thanksgiving dinner.

At first, I was excited.

I like dinner.

Then I discovered what was for dinner.

That changed things.

Immediately.

I packed a small bag.

Then I unpacked it because I remembered I have wings.

Then I headed north.

Very north.

By the time I reached the North Pole, I was cold, tired and extremely motivated.

Santa found me standing outside the workshop.

He said:

“Well, hello there! What brings you to the North Pole?”

I said:

“November.”

Santa nodded.

He understood.

Santa told me I could stay.

But I wanted something in writing.

You can never be too careful.

Especially when recipes are involved.

So I requested an official North Pole Turkey Pardon.

Santa laughed.

I did not.

Eventually he agreed.

That’s how I became...

PERMANENTLY PARDONED.

I keep reminding everyone of this.

Especially Ginger.

She says:

“Mr. T, I know.”

I say:

“Just checking.”

I like Thanksgiving.

Really.

Family.

Friends.

Gratitude.

Kindness.

Pumpkin pie.

Excellent holiday.

There is just...

one small problem.

The menu.

So I decided Thanksgiving needed a turkey consultant.

Me.

My first recommendation was simple:

Keep Thanksgiving. Lose the turkey.

This was surprisingly controversial.

Apparently people have traditions.

Fine.

I have a tradition too.

Not being eaten.

So I created the North Pole’s Thanksgiving rule:

TURKEY APPROVED.

If a Thanksgiving recipe contains no turkey...

I approve it.

Pumpkin pie?

Approved.

Cookies?

Approved.

Mashed potatoes?

Approved.

Ginger’s Thanksgiving creations?

I inspect them personally.

And when Ginger tells me:

“There is no turkey in this recipe.”

I say:

“Good start.”

Then somebody showed me a wishbone.

I asked where it came from.

Nobody answered.

Suspicious.

Very suspicious.

But I liked the idea of making wishes.

So we made a North Pole version.

A wishbone where everybody gets to make a wish...

and nobody has to explain where the bone came from.

Much better.

That eventually led to the Wish Upon a Turkey tradition.

You make the wish.

I supervise.

No turkey required.

Progress.

Christmas has trees.

Lots of trees.

Everywhere you look:

tree.

Tree.

Another tree.

One year I asked:

“Where’s the Thanksgiving tree?”

Everybody stared at me.

Apparently Thanksgiving didn’t have one.

That seemed unfair.

So now we have the Thanksgiving Wish Tree.

Instead of hanging ornaments, we hang wishes, hopes and things we’re thankful for.

I like it.

It reminds everybody that Thanksgiving isn’t really about what’s on the table.

It’s about who’s around it.

Although I still keep an eye on what’s on the table.

Old habits.

Then I discovered Christmas had a countdown.

A big one.

Everybody knew exactly how many days were left until Christmas.

I asked:

“What about Thanksgiving?”

Silence.

Unacceptable.

So I created the:

GREAT THANKSGIVING GOBBLE-DOWN.

We count the days.

We open the Gobble Calendar.

We make wishes.

We pardon turkeys.

We celebrate Thanksgiving properly.

And when Thanksgiving gets close...

I get nervous.

Not because I’m worried.

Remember:

Permanently Pardoned.

I just like to verify the paperwork.

Frequently.

This is also when I became interested in mathematics.

Specifically...

subtraction.

Think about it.

If there are 20 days until Thanksgiving...

tomorrow there are 19.

Then 18.

Then 17.

The number keeps getting smaller.

Beautiful.

That’s why I prefer subtraction.

We are removing days.

Getting closer.

Everything makes sense.

Then Jack showed me this:

3 − (−3) = 6

I stared at it.

I said:

“No.”

Jack said:

“Yep.”

I said:

“We subtracted. The number is supposed to get SMALLER.”

Jack explained that subtracting a negative is the same as adding.

I accused mathematics of changing the rules.

Mathematics refused to comment.

I’m still investigating.

Then there’s Count Barkula.

Nice dog.

Lot of hair.

Very confident.

One day I thought he was talking down to me.

He said:

“I count down. I don’t talk down.”

I said:

“Counting down is subtraction.”

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

I started explaining.

He left.

Apparently there are limits.

His words.

Not mine.

I’ve also worked with the Groundhog Brothers.

I use the word worked generously.

Ask them how long something will take.

They say:

“Six weeks.”

Ask them when something will happen.

“Six weeks.”

Ask them what they want for lunch.

There’s a pause.

Then:

“Six weeks.”

I finally asked why everything was six weeks.

They said:

“We know six weeks.”

Then:

“That’s how we roll.”

Then one of them asked:

“Can you dig it?”

I can.

I just don’t understand it.

For all my complaining...

I really do love Thanksgiving.

Because underneath the Gobble-Down...

the calendars...

the wishes...

the math...

and my completely reasonable concern about the menu...

Thanksgiving asks a pretty important question:

What are you thankful for?

You don’t need a huge dinner to answer it.

You don’t need decorations.

You don’t even need a turkey.

I strongly recommend that last option.

Sometimes it’s something big.

Your family.

Your friends.

A home.

Someone you love.

Sometimes it’s something small.

A warm cookie.

A good laugh.

Someone saving you a seat.

Or somebody deciding that maybe...

just this once...

pizza would be perfectly acceptable for Thanksgiving dinner.

The point is to notice the good things while they’re here.

Because there’s usually more to be thankful for than we remember.

That’s why I like our North Pole pardons.

Yes, they’re funny.

And yes, I have a certain personal interest in the subject.

But a pardon says something else too.

It says:

“You get another day.”

Another day to do something kind.

Another day to make somebody laugh.

Another day to be thankful.

Another day to enjoy being here.

I happen to think that’s worth celebrating.

Even if you’re not a turkey.

I’m a turkey.

Obviously.

I’m a Thanksgiving expert.

Self-appointed.

I’m a mathematician.

Under investigation.

I’m permanently pardoned.

Verified repeatedly.

And I am the North Pole’s leading advocate for a Thanksgiving where...

everybody gets a seat at the table.

Including the turkey.

Preferably at the table.

Not...

You know.

Not quite.

Thanksgiving comes back every year.

Which means I have work to do.

Calendars to open.

Wishes to make.

Days to subtract.

Turkeys to pardon.

And menus to inspect.

So if anybody asks where I am...

I’ll be at the North Pole.

Probably with Ginger.

Reading a recipe.

Very carefully.

And if anybody asks what the T stands for?

Tell them:

Mr. T will suffice.

🦃