This article has a companion piece which can be read here
It’s 8 a.m. on the fourth Thursday of November. My eyes fly open, and adrenaline courses through my veins. It’s the day.
By 9:30 a.m. I’ve made my way to the field behind the local elementary school. I step out of the car, adorned with tights, knee-high socks, bright yellow cleats, way-too-small gloves and my friend’s jersey from peewee football (worn backward, of course). Eye-black will come later.
I grab my dad’s soccer cones and start lining a field, my brother creates an endzone at each end. More and more cars start pulling into the school parking lot, friends appearing left and right. Some are seasoned veterans of our famed Turkey Bowl, some are newcomers. All have one goal in mind: win.
The clock hits 10 a.m. The fellas are raring to go, me and mine vs. my younger brother and his. It’s another beautiful November morning, the pigskins have been flying, my friends have been talking about this moment for the past two months and we’re gearing up for another game in a tradition that has spanned over a decade. The opening kick-off commences, and the next two hours will be spent running around with flags on waists, a ball in hand, bodies flying and smiles all around.
This football game brings together family and friends from across my hometown, connecting me with friends I haven’t seen in months and giving me a dose of that competitive spirit that even intramural sports can’t provide. This is all thanks to the celebration of one day: Thanksgiving.
An icon of American culture and tradition, it is undoubtedly one of the best holidays out there. After leaving my blood, sweat and tears out on that hallowed field, the day has only just begun.
Arriving back home means the start of one of my favorite activities in the whole world: eating. Although I refuse lunch today, choosing to save myself for the feast coming later, the cooking begins right away, and I always manage to sneak a few bites (Hawaiian rolls beware).
Peeling and chopping sweet potatoes, tossing salads, and constantly swapping trays in and out of the oven fills my time. The hustle and bustle of the afternoon holds all the promise of a fantastic evening. The aromas of a dozen expertly concocted dishes transport my senses to an ethereal realm. Remy would be proud.
It’s now mid-afternoon, and the cooking has slowed down. The couch calls my name, and what else would be on the TV but the ultimate representation of fall in America? It’s time to watch some football.
Despite the unreasonable hold that the Turkey Bowl has on my heart, I have not played an organized football game since fourth grade. I am a casual NFL fan and base 90% of my knowledge on my fantasy team. 364 out of 365 days of the year I prefer to watch real football (fútbol, fußball or soccer if you please), but on Thanksgiving, there is nothing I would rather do than lose myself in the most American sports spectacle out there.
After an hour or two of watching the Detroit Lions and Chicago Bears combine for 10 points in the first half, it’s time to get ready for dinner. After putting on the same outfit I’ve worn at every Thanksgiving for the past five years (I love me some good khaki pants and a quarter zip), my family grabs our dishes and drives over to my aunt and uncle’s house.
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When we arrive, they already have a magnificent culinary display lining their kitchen, and we only add to it. Turkey legs, warm and creamy mac ’n cheese, mashed potatoes, stuffing and more; I’m salivating just thinking about it.
Somehow it has become controversial, but Thanksgiving food is unequivocally fantastic. It is comforting, it is classic, it feels like home. There is more than I could ever eat, and I will still get third and fourth servings. It is so much more than the taste. It is the feeling you associate with this food.
But it’s still tasty to me. After gorging myself on the best home-cooked meal I’ve had since starting the semester, it’s time to unwind. I catch up with my younger cousins, and they tell me all the new middle school and high school gossip, unintentionally making me feel incredibly old. My aunt and uncle ask me all about school, and I once again tell them I have no clue what I want to do after graduation. My grandma tells me how proud she is of my time in college, and I’m reminded how much family time matters.
Thanksgiving Day is a uniquely wonderful holiday. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love the food and activities, but from friends to family, people make the day special. I am thankful for the way it brings people together, and it will always be one of my favorite holidays.
I just hope my brother knows my team is winning again this year.
Sam Norton is a senior biology major with an environmental science co-major and a journalism minor. He has been writing for The Student since his first year, won a regional SPJ award for his opinion columns, and is currently the GreenHawks and Opinion editor. He loves the outdoors and working with his fellow TMS writers and editors.
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