As cliche as it may seem, I do consider myself a global citizen. Or at the very least, an American aspiring to be a citizen of the world. Nonetheless, at the base of that, I am American.
To me, being an American isn’t about supporting the NRA or considering any place outside of the fifty states uninhabitable or just plain inferior. The U.S. is where my family is from (well, at least for my generation and my parents’). It’s where I grew up; where I first made friends; where I’m part of established traditions… like Thanksgiving.
After a somewhat underwhelming celebration of Halloween (after work I went down to the local 7-11, spent too much on candy and stood on the outside of our apartment door saying “Trick-or-Treat” which was a cue for Morgan to open the door and give me the candy I had bought), I made up my mind to celebrate Thanksgiving in a more traditional way.
My friend Michelle (also American) and I coordinated via Facebook and put together a small, family-style Thanksgiving feast. We invited another American (Nicola) and our three token South Africans (Morgan, Will and Greta) to celebrate/introduce the holiday that is Thanksgiving.
And what’s the best part about Thanksgiving? Without a doubt, the leftovers.