Editor’s note: This commentary is by Nancy Braus of Putney.
For some, Thanksgiving is just another holiday that celebrates the arrival and colonization of North America by Europeans. However, for others, this annual gathering, or maybe a different time of year that is your family’s special time, is a tradition that we rely on in ways that vary in importance and pleasure depending on our relations with our extended family, or our chosen family.
Some of my very early memories, bolstered by photographs, include some very old New Yorkers who were related to me in some manner — many were my father’s first cousins or really, who knows? I can still remember some of the smells that accompanied very old people in the 1950s and ’60s, as well as the feel of the women’s fur coats. These people all arrived at our suburban home for a feast that we looked forward to for weeks. Some of the old folks were people we saw only at Thanksgiving, and some of them were probably not so old! We children put on what were probably really poor quality skits that the adults were either happy to watch or forced to do so. In later years, kids put on music performances.
I learned that the family Thanksgiving, which may have happened at my grandmother’s house, was postponed in 1938 because my great-grandfather had been able to liberate a couple of distant relations from the Nazis in Europe. Greta, from Vienna, had been smart enough, beautiful enough, or just prescient enough to get her husband, Victor, out of an Austrian work camp. They were able to travel across Europe and get a boat from England to New York. I have no idea how long the celebration was postponed, but Thanksgiving always included Victor and Greta until their deaths, and their daughter and her family after that.
The one time a year, whether it is a summer reunion, a winter feast, or a celebration of a religious holiday, when those who have helped make us who we are all come together has gained more importance as Americans have scattered to the corners of the country and even the world. I think about those of my generation who attended my childhood and young adult Thanksgivings. All lived in the greater New York metropolitan area. Now they are in Indiana, California, Ohio, western New York, and Boston, and I live in Vermont. For many of us, these gatherings represent the first time we have seen some babies, the last time we have seen some very old folks, and a strong feeling of wholeness.
In my family, we have traditionally spent four days in Rochester, New York, where my sister lives, and where her amateur gourmet husband Ed fills us with amazing food he has spent weeks preparing. We always seat two full tables, with someone representing every decade from birth to the 90s most years. We will miss our long walks in the park, movie night, the hockey game night, the lunch for the younger and stupider to consume a famous “Nick Tahoe’s Garbage Plate,” and the trip to the truly amazing Public Market, and of course the obligatory football game, usually played in the slush.
I am sure many of you reading this are thinking about your own traditions you will not be sharing with your special crew this year. I am angry at Donald Trump, his terribly incompetent government, and his cult for encouraging the spread of coronavirus, for a complete lack of leadership and a terrible use of resources, and for depriving those of us who actually find solace, joy, and importance in our traditions. It is possible, had Covid even been handled with moderate competence, we would not be in the situation we are in today. If those in charge of public health had been able to do their jobs instead of being obstructed from day one by the Trump team, we would still be dealing with a lethal disease. But, billions of people in China, everyone in New Zealand and South Korea, and many other countries, have this under control, and we see here a fast growing death count and many of us are fearful of this disease.
I am still fortunate — since we care for our grandchildren every week, we will be having a small Thanksgiving with local family members. However, the loss of a tradition that in my family has been unbroken since at least 1938 will be felt, and Zoom will never substitute for hugs, personal discussions, walks in the cold, and all the other personal interactions that give us pleasure and the psychic energy to move on. I hope everyone reading this finds a way to have a meaningful and enjoyable holiday period — this might be the hardest time in the pandemic, and we all need to find a way to stay healthy, sane, and have some joy in our lives.
And goodbye, Donald.
