The Thankful Fork

Growing up, I ate every Thanksgiving dinner cold. 

It wasn't because my relatives didn't know how to properly read meat thermometers or because I was passed out from sneaking one too many of my Uncle Louie's VO and Sevens, but because of the Thankful Fork.

The Thankful Fork is a somewhat irritating family tradition that started as a pre-meal roll call, passing around a serving fork.  When each diner receives this sacred utensil, they must announce what they are grateful for at that given year.  The ritual seems harmless and actually is quite humbling, but over the years it has evolved into an emotional roller coaster ride complete with tears, laughter and sometimes rehashing of old rivalries.

How has it evolved from a peaceful practice to a celebrated circus? I'm not exactly sure, but as the family has grown in both numbers and age, the event has become more eccentric.  Currently, each person is allotted three to five minutes to share their spiel and with a guest list of nearly thirty, the entire ordeal can last over two hours.  Somewhere along the spectrum of my twenty two years, the speaker has moved from sitting in their designated chair to a makeshift stage.  And somewhere along the way a microphone was added.

During the chaos, there's music, acting and choreographed routines.  My cousin Travis always does a hip hop performance and some are too sentimental to make it through their blubbering speech.  When it's time to eat, it's as if you just sat through the final episode of Sonny and Cher.

As I got older, it dawned on me that the Thankful Fork was for thankful dorks.  With teenagehood my familial embarrassment only heightened and I was bit excited when, at eighteen, I got to spend my first Turkey Day overseas in Italy, thousands of miles from the Thankful Fork.

My host family had heard about Thanksgiving and asked me if I would like to have a small dinner at their house.  Sure, why not?  Unfortunately, I ended up having to cook, but without Frenches Deep Fried Onions and other essential ingredients, the meal a far cry from American.  Still, my host family and a few friends from school settled into the posh Milanese penthouse to celebrate gratitude.

"So what else do you do on this day?" my inquisitive host mother asked.  "You just eat?"

"Umm...well, we watch football too," I replied.  "American football."

The lull in the conversation made me feel a bit insecure about my holiday, and thus I blurted: "And we pass around a fork and share what we are thankful for."

Ten sets of eyes glared at me in disbelief.  At the time I was unaware that Italians are part of a very proud culture, and showing gratitude can be considered weak.  Anyhow, I continued to explain the Thankful Fork tradition and the crowd continued to looked at me as if I had LOSER scribbled across my forehead.

"I'll start," I said.  "I'm thankful that I know all of you wonderful people."

After an eruption of laughter, the giggles settled and the questions began.  Why would you be thankful for knowing someone?  Why would you pick that?  You barely know us!

I was shocked that being thankful was so taboo, and became a bit embarrassed.  A few others at the table offered up their thanks for the food, but my host father absolutely refused to participate.  Overall, Thankful Fork: Italian Style was a bust. 

My failed attempt at sharing culture got me down for a few homesick ridden days, but then I realized there's nothing to be ashamed about.  As cheesy and cliche as Thanksgiving may seem, it really represents something uniquely vulnerable yet extraordinary about being American.  Although there are many things wrong about our country, we have to recognize that we have a day completely dedicated to being grateful for an awesome life.  And that's pretty bad ass. 

So this Thanksgiving, I'm grateful that I have the ability to be grateful.  Pass me the Fork.