Giving Thanks

By Phil Polizatto,WWH – I am preparing myself for the usual onslaught of food tomorrow. I am trying to talk
myself into being gracious and social. It is more difficult than you can imagine. The
members of the very large family into which I “married” are all, with one or two
exceptions, very progressive. None more so than the widowed matriarch herself, who at
the age of 84 is as politically astute and justifiably angry as any liberal pundit of repute.
Mama is so well versed in national and international politics, she could easily debate any
Republican presidential candidate, and probably primary Obama and make him sweat.
Understandably, we get along just fine.

Mama’s youngest daughter married a conservative Republican. He had the good sense
to avoid discussing politics around her. Mama was one who firmly believed that arguing
with a Republican was a waste of time. But she also believed that all the progressive
members of her family should keep their mouths shut as well and not mix politics with
family affairs.

It’s her Republican son-in-law, her daughter, and their two kids, who traditionally host
Thanksgiving dinner every year. Mama quickly taught me to stifle myself when it came
to politics, especially since she knew I was passionate and had a big mouth. When it
comes to family, keeping the peace is her utmost concern. And if you loved Mama, you
did your best not to make waves. Even if my Republican “brother-in-law” innocently
mentions the Occupy movement, I will get a warning look from the elderly woman I
adore and to whom I would never want to expose to familial tension or conflict.

Don’t get me wrong. Our Thanksgiving hosts are very nice and loving people. They
volunteer and give to their favorite charities. However, when it comes to politics, mum
is the word. Those that know me know how incredibly difficult this is for me to do. I
need to wear a rubber band around my wrist and like that woman in Sordid Lives who
snapped the band every time she felt the urge to have a cigarette, I need to snap the
band every time I feel the urge to break into a soap box oratory. By the end of the day,
I’m sure my wrist will be red and sore.

Tomorrow will be especially difficult given recent events. Perhaps I can discipline myself
not to initiate any political discussions, but will I be able to stifle myself if an offhand
remark is made that demands a defense? Maybe if I pick up some ear plugs and duct
tape to only be removed from my mouth for the purposes of eating and drinking, I
will be able to make it through the day. I am sure that as I write this, Mama is saying a
prayer to the Virgin Mary that I don’t “get into it” with her son-in-law.

The son-in-law has an important job at a major corporation, makes big bucks and
he and his beautiful family live in a beautiful suburb in a beautiful part of this area.
Moreover, he is a gourmet chef who believes in cooking great food in great quantities,
sparing no expense. As soon as you enter their home, you are greeted not only by the
hosts, but by tables in various parts of the main floor each crowded with a variety of hors
d’oeuvres, from stuffed mushrooms, artichoke-spinach dip, fresh oysters, cheeses, crab
legs, chips and crackers, vegetable plates, and always something unexpected and exotic.

Another table is exclusively for desserts and the younger kids loiter there a lot, drooling
over the three different pies, two cakes, and assorted cookies and brownies (and they
know there’s an ice cream log in the freezer!) Though the adults refrain from drooling,
there are a lot of oohs and aahs appreciatively expressed as if they were at an art gallery
and came upon unusually fine works of art so beautiful, one wonders if they may be
touched, let alone eaten.

Then there are the dishes the guests bring ranging from desserts and appetizers to
Mama’s famous sweet potato fluff with marshmallows. This of course only adds to the
enormous amount of food that widens the eyes upon entering the house. It is somewhat
overwhelming, considering the main courses are hiding in ovens and in pots upon the
stove.

While the hostess makes drinks and tends to every whim of every guest making sure
everyone is comfortable and having a good time, the host works at his craft, preparing:

1. A light creamy soup. In past years it has often been asparagus or something with
a vegetable in it, if only to give the creaminess an excuse for its existence.
2. Three dishes of pasta. One with red sauce and sausage, one with alfredo
and bacon, and one side bowl of meatless marinara sauce for me and my
vegetarian “niece,” with whom I delight in exchanging looks because we often
know what the other is thinking.
 3. A very fine dish of tender flank steak broiled perfectly so the blood just slides
around the knife as it is cut into thin strips. Of course, the flank steak must be
served with a lobster tail oozing butter from under its bright orange exoskeleton.
 4. Finally, the turkey with all the trimmings. Foie gras stuffing, candied yams,
string beans and almonds, cranberry sauce made from fresh cranberries, mashed
potatoes, stuffed Portobello mushrooms, and at least two different kinds of
salads.

These items are served in the order listed. Usually a different wine is brought out
to accompany each course. Since I do not drink alcohol, I don’t appreciate the finer

aspects of wine, but just to be polite I’ll take my partner’s glass and sniff it, remarking
on how “sensitive and fragile” or “broad-shouldered” its bouquet is. My host laughs. He
does have a great sense of humor.

Oh, I forgot to mention Grace. Probably because it’s said so perfunctorily and quickly,
they’re just a string of words run together in a race to see who can finish first. Due to
my very Sicilian Catholic upbringing, I am used to very long “graces” customized to the
occasion and the particular people present. I could give an excellent Grace. It’s funny
because I am the sole atheist in the group, and I am the one offended that it isn’t given
the thought or respect it deserves.

I don’t sound very grateful, do I? Let me tell you for what I am, and am not, grateful:

I give thanks for the pasta marinara and the salad, which is more than enough to satisfy
my hunger.

I do not give thanks for the excesses of food and wine which could feed twice or three
times the number of people that will be there. It embarrasses me, though Mama tells me
the leftovers never go to waste.

I give thanks to Mama who readily welcomed me into the family and loves me
unconditionally. I give thanks to my partner whose consideration, selflessness, and
generosity is unequalled. I give thanks to the rest of the family, all of whom accepted me
(sooner than later) into their tribe.

I give thanks to all those who have put their bodies on the line in the battle to regain
our democracy and who fight for peace, social and economic justice, and respect for the
earth. I give thanks to all my citizen-journalist brothers and sisters and to Worldwide
Hippies for giving us a place to express ourselves.

And I give thanks to my Republican brother-in-law for he is a fine man and a wonderful
father and husband. And I admit it, he is a great chef. He also knows that he is the only
one in the family who can afford to put on such a lavish display of the finest food the
earth, sea and sky can offer. I believe that if there were a family crisis and everyone had
to chip in money to get through it, he would offer to chip in more than the rest because
he knows he can afford it.

I do not give thanks that he cannot understand that America is in a crisis and like
one big family those that can readily afford to help, should do so willingly. Or does he
understand? I will never know! Mama won’t let us discuss politics! But if he and others

of his political persuasion can’t make the leap from the immediate family to the family of
humankind, then that is a bother to me.

I give thanks to his wife, my “sister-in-law.” Mama tells me she always secretly votes
Democratic in order to cancel her husband’s vote out. But please, keep your lips sealed.
He doesn’t know!

And finally, let us all give a multitude of thanks, brothers and sisters, for the bonds of
love and peace that unite us. Namaste!

To contact Phil or find out more: check out his website and blog For a copy of HUNGA DUNGA
Phil Polizatto – Worldwide Hippies Bureau Chief – West Coast USA, is a graduate of The School of Foreign Service, Georgetown University. He was a feature writer for the overseas division of UPI, a copywriter for CBS, and an award-winning corporate film producer. Mr. Polizatto is a published poet and a regular contributor to Worldwide Hippies as well as a variety of other arts and literary journals. Hunga Dunga is his first published novel. He resides in the Pacific Northwest.