Thanksgiving

In a sense, it was your idyllic Thanksgiving setting. A stuffed turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, Dad's delicious cranberry salad, all feasted upon by a hungry and happy family. It was nearly picturesque with the contemporary idea of the holiday.

And yet, I didn't enjoy it too much. I usually don't. Perhaps it is because of the most recent installment in the Zelda franchise and the way in which it calls to me, as if begging to be played. Thanksgiving, however, seems to take precedence over video games in my family, for some reason. Or maybe it's because of the fairly extensive use of alcohol. I do have a particularly low tolerance for drunkenness. But I imagine that what really gets me about the holiday is how secluded I feel from the rest of the family on this occasion. The rest of my family, caught up in its traditionalistic values, places large emphasis on the religious aspects of Thanksgiving. As an atheist, I bow my head in awkward shame rather than religious grace when my grandfather recites his customary dinner-table prayer. Not a year passes without a question thrown in my direction about my religious preferences, or lack thereof. The questions aren't cruel, but they certainly have that twinge of pseudo-disgust that comes with a clashing of beliefs. So I sit in silence and eat my fill, plagued by the notion that I am different from the rest of my family and that this is how they see it, too.