I’ll be honest—in all my life, I have never been more excited for Thanksgiving. With the stress of school and this godforsaken election, I am so ready to take a break from classes, spend time with my family, eat good food, and remember all that I have to be grateful for.

One of the things I’m most grateful for, actually, is the education that I received growing up. My parents sent me to a progressive school, and while not perfect (no institution is), I learned from a young age what I now know to be an unusually complete overall history of the United States and to think critically about our cultural traditions.

So here’s something I’d like to share: most of what you probably learned about Thanksgiving is a myth, or at least very misleading.

The standard story, as is told across elementary schools in the United States, goes something as follows: When the pilgrims came to America in 1620, they didn't know how to properly farm in these foreign conditions. The Native Americans helped to teach them how to plant their crops, and by November -- through their friendship and teamwork -- they had a successful harvest. They then celebrated by throwing a joint feast, during which turkey was served. Americans have celebrated Thanksgiving ever since.

Well, not exactly.

There is much debate over what actually transpired in the early 1600s between the pilgrims and the Wampanoag Native Americans. If you do some online research, there isn’t one consensus on what the accurate story of Thanksgiving is, but there are some general patterns among what you’ll find—for one, that Thanksgiving wasn’t celebrated until Abraham Lincoln instituted it as an attempt to bring the country together. Secondly, while there may have been a three-day feast between Wampanoag people and settlers, it was likely different from what you were taught. There were probably around twice as many Native Americans present than pilgrims, and while they likely ate together it was not at a long wooden table. Most historians believe that the real reason for the gathering was that, after a successful harvest, the pilgrims fired weapons into the sky in celebration. The Wampanoag then decided to investigate to make sure that they were not under attack. When they arrived, they found that the pilgrims were celebrating a successful harvest, and they (likely) all shared in a three-day feast.

But what’s less important than the specifics of this 1621 gathering is the impression we give off when we tell it selectively: that relations between Native Americans and settlers were peaceful, that settlers by and large made an effort to get along with native peoples, or even that Native Americans are people of the past. This supposed three-day feast might have been a nice (impromptu) gesture, but it was followed by centuries of oppression. As Wampanoag Wamsutta James once wrote: “We, the Wampanoag, welcomed you, the white man, with open arms, little knowing that it was the beginning of the end.”

The oppression of Native Americans isn’t just history, either; it’s happening right now at Standing Rock. As you read this,there are thousands of people who, rather than getting revved up to eat turkey, are putting their lives on hold to camp out in the cold and protect their sacred right to clean water. Just this past Sunday night, police officers used freezing cold water, tear gas, and rubber bullets against water protectors, injuring over 150.

I hope that every teacher who takes the time to teach their young students about Thanksgiving also finds the time to mention the North Dakota Access Pipeline. While dressing your kids up to play Native Americans in their Thanksgiving play, be sure to remind them that the people they’re playing weren’t acknowledged as American citizens until 1924, didn’t have the right to vote until 1965, and weren’t guaranteed freedom of speech until 1968. Be sure you don’t forget to tell them about the 4,000 natives that died of starvation, cold, and disease on the Trail of Tears between 1830 and 1838, or that in 1763 American settlers in Pennsylvania purposefully spread smallpox to Native Americans by giving them infected blankets.

Okay, I’m being a bit hyperbolic. Though all of these events are real and should be taught and acknowledged, you don’t have to tell your kindergarteners quite yet about how colonists won cash prizes for capturing and decapitating Native Americans. But my point is this: if you are not ready to acknowledge the full, complex, often devastating history of our nation’s relationship with native peoples, then don’t selectively spoon-feed your children only partially accurate stories which, when told out of context, erase the plight of indigenous people.

Gratitude and respect for others are wonderful virtues, but let’s be clear: they have very little to do with our history, especially our history with Native Americans. The sentiment behind Thanksgiving is lovely. I personally am not in favor of abolishing Thanksgiving as a celebration—I love pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, time with family, and counting my blessings. But I refuse to use this holiday as an opportunity to erase the darker moments of our national biography. I refuse to pretend that this nation is built on peace and respect towards others, when it very clearly is not.

There are a lot of lessons we can take away from this cherished story: those of welcoming refugees to a new land, reaching out to those who are outwardly different than us, and finding the time to be grateful for all we have. If we take these virtues and put them into action, we may no longer need to recite a misleading historical event to conjure them. If we apply these values to our day-to-day lives, then maybe—just maybe—we’ll find our own stories to tell.