There are many aspects of my life that made my friends back home question my very sanity. The usual one I would get was the confused faces at a party whenever I would just switch over to English for the remainder of the night. I do not know why, but after a few drinks in me, I just want to stick to English. There’s a lot less thinking going on when I use English, since I kind of translate half of what I say when I use Spanish. I can’t say confidently that is what goes on, because to be honest, I’m not sure how it really works. What happens regularly is that I make up words in Spanish that sound like a literal translation from English rather than an actual world. For instance, instead of saying “granjero” which means farmer, I would blurt out “farmero” thinking it was the right word. It usually ended in either laughs or my friend Arturo correcting me and screaming “For the love of God stop thinking in English!” Ironically, it is that very friend whom which I spoke in English after said drinks were over with.

That is barely the tip of the iceberg of things I would do, wear or say that made my friends cringe. Music taste was weird according to others, my choice of clothes was bizarre, my obsession with Tech-Decks terrifying, but most of all, was the food choices. In Mexico, sadly at that, Thanks Giving is not celebrated. It Is a known holiday, but no actual rituals take place. Well, rituals outside of my house I guess, because I have yet to see any Thanksgiving Dinner that did not feature my mother’s expertise in the kitchen. School became a bit more tolerable knowing I would have a mess of a leftover sandwich waiting for me in my bag. Thanksgiving in my house was way more than just a bomb-ass meal, but a reminder to myself that I was also American, and that there were things to be learned from a holiday such as Fourth of July or Thanksgiving.For any holiday my mom would get me all set with stickers to put all around the house’s windows that were like stained glass stickers. Turkeys, settlers, pumpkins would reign during this season. Halloween had passed, but I knew that the holiday coming up was a big deal, and you can bet I was excited. My friends though, that is another story.

I’m not a big sports person. The sports that interest me are Skateboarding, Surfing and video games (if you agree with me that they are also a sport). Therefore, watching the game is not the highlight of Thanksgiving to me, but my Dad is an absolute Cowboys fan and will be watching football if there is no soccer around. If you didn’t know, American Football is very popular in Mexico, next to Baseball and lastly Basketball. The latter being a huge surprise when my Mexican grandmother told me of how she played in high school. Anyways, the biggest draw I had and still have towards Turkey Day, is well, the Turkey and all of the delicious sides that come with it. Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, gravy, green beans, more turkey, more gravy, more potatoes, more, and more, and more. You think you are going to explode, and then the pies are revealed. Apple, Pumpkin, another slice, maybe just another, maybe now a little bit of each. Gluttony in its highest form.

If you are like me, then you take your fork on impossible missions, where every aspect of the meal has to fit in the tiny little guy. The Macy’s Parade has been seen, the game is over, and everyone is gaining pounds with every breath they take. Food coma will ensue in a bit, so time to put everything away for another day. Early morning the next day, got to get to school. Oh you thought I had it off? No no no, school in Mexico does not rest for this holiday. It doesn’t matter. There is nothing shitty about a day where you get to eat leftovers for a solid week or two. Everyone at school is pissy. Classes start at seven in the morning, and when you live in a city where traffic is as unpredictable as the weather in New England, you better wake your ass up a good two or three hours in advance, or else you might as well just stay home because there is no way you will make it on time.

Recess rolls around and as soon a I pull out my lunch, the questions start pouring out of my friends like a broken soda dispenser. Bread is the last thing you see in a leftover sandwich. The stuffing cannot be told apart from the turkey, everything is covered in gravy, and the only color to the damn thing is the bits of dark cranberry red. Absolutely beautiful. In a separate baggie, a godly slice of pumpkin pie for dessert. I think the hardest part to this meal is enjoying the sandwich, knowing you have to wait for it to be done before attacking the sole slice of pie you got.

There are a few things that people back home find repulsing that your average American will love. Baked beans made someone almost throw up when I told them about it, and when I mentioned how the snack bar should have relish for their hotdogs, it looked as if I had insulted the man, his mother, his family and then spat in his face. Sweet beans are simply incoherent in the eyes of a Mexican, and for a legitimate reason. All the beans back home are either a base flavor or spicy. Sweet and beans would never cross their minds. Relish was a no go simply because I am convinced Mexico hates pickles with the passion of a thousand burning Suns. I believe the only person I haven’t seen rip the poor little guys out of a burger is my friend Gian, but everyone else, oh man, they fucking hate them! When I told the dude at the snack bar about what relish was, he must’ve been amazed at how something so horrible could’ve been taken, and made worse. I don’t care if it makes me a bit more like Snooky than I’d like, but pickles are a God among food, especially on a burger.

Therefore, when I pull that bad boy out in recess, they take one look at the gravy and the cranberry and all they do is say “That looks disgusting”. I haven’t really ever explained what stuffing is, but I’m pretty sure that they would flip over how “horrible” and how “fattening” it is, even though Mexico recently took first place in obesity. The turkey isn’t the worse part for them, no. Friends considered my worst sandwich to be the day I brought an egg salad one. I couldn’t even eat it because as soon as I opened, and they asked what smell, as soon as I said egg salad a universal gag was heard around the classroom. Once I was done with the sandwich, it was time for the mighty pumpkin pie. Half way in I get asked why the cake is orange, and as they find out the ingredients, jaws drop to the floor. I don’t get it. How can you hate a food without ever tasting it, let alone, by just hearing about what is in it. People back home just do not understand how a pumpkin can be a pie, or a dessert. Pumpkin is eaten during the meal back home, and its paired with spices and cheese and tortillas. A dessert? Blasphemy!

It bothered me for a while. Not only is Thanksgiving one of my favorite holidays, or Pumpkin Pie the only real contender against cheesecake for me, but it bothered me that so much judgment was being passed down on such a good meal! If I was able to convince my aunt that she was eating a chicken empanada when it was really brain and she liked it, I was sure as hell going to try and convince some that Thanksgiving Dinner is the dinner to have around this time of year. So, my mother invited family friends to our dinner in which they would all try it out for the first time. I don’t remember much about that meal, except for everyone was surprised when I was reaching out for the third servingof the night. Everyone else is being so polite, and clean with their plates, delicately cutting the turkey, trying out some stuffing, and maybe even some of that “weird” cranberry sauce. Meanwhile I am digging my serving spoon in anything that is on the table, channeling my inner Thomas chanting in my head “I can do it, I can eat more, keep going, keep going” as I kept going down the culinary railroad of carbs, meat and fat.

At the end of the dinner, everyone said how they actually loved it. I never really understood if that was them being polite or not, but all I know is, every year, I look forward to being the biggest, loudest, messiest, fattest pig at the dinner table. And if that means I will hate myself the next couple of days for willingly ingesting what could feed a decent family of five, it doesn’t matter because I am extremely thankful for my family, my friends, and for the food put down in front of me so that I can join everyone as we pass out from the food coma. Happy Thanksgiving to all, and may your waistlines be kind this year. ~ad astra ultraque