Thanksgiving is our oldest truly American holiday and its celebration of thankfulness can never change. It combines the sharing of plentiful food with the gathering of family members.
A 19th century writer, Lydia Maria Child, wrote a poem that children knew and recited. It began, “Over the river and through the wood, To grandfather’s house we go, The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh, Through the white and drifted snow.”
She was born in 1802 and died in 1880, so she could never imagine horsepower except the four-legged kind.
Modes of transportation have changed, but the family holiday sense remains despite the difference in preparation of food and methods of cooking. Appetites are still the same, as is the pleasure of family coming together.
Exactly 20 years ago, I wrote a parody on the old-fashioned stanzas, and it seems appropriate to repeat it in a new century.
It is a lighthearted version, but the depth of feeling for the very special family holiday is unchanged.
A Modern Thanksgiving
(with apologies to Lydia Maria Child)
Over the freeway and through the smog,
To grandmother’s house we go;
The car makes its way on this holiday,
Through the traffic stalled and slow.
Out in the kitchen, in grocery bags,
Are grandmother’s frozen pies;
And when they are made, they will masquerade
As “scratch-baked” in disguise.
The salad is crisp and the yams are sweet,
As grandmother happily hums;
The time she can save with her microwave
She can use when her company comes.
Carving the turkey with electric knife,
Is the method now in use;
And every slice will be moist and nice,
And tender with succulent juice.
At last there’s a car in grandmother’s block,
And a happy welcoming cry;
It’s holiday fun, the turkey is done;
Save room for some pumpkin pie.