Talking turkey, and cultural sensitivities, at Thanksgiving

The preschool teacher to whom I am married stopped in the middle of Thanksgiving lesson planning one evening last week, held up drawings of Pilgrims and Indians and asked me, "Do you think these are offensive?"

I was taken aback. For one thing, I figured my days of helping with preschool holiday festivities had ended ignominiously years ago when a young woman who was supposed to play the Easter Bunny for a party canceled and -- true story -- I had to fill in at the last moment, squeezing into a fluffy pink costume about three sizes too small, donning big floppy ears on my head and, yes, hopping into the yard. One of the kids asked, "Teacher, why's the Easter Bunny so grouchy?" I can only assume that more than one parent had to break the news to his or her weeping child that night: "No, no, honey, the Easter Bunny IS real. The thing is, though, he's kind of an asshole."

Also, I am frankly unaccustomed to being asked to weigh in on questions of cultural sensitivity. After all, it was only a couple of years ago that I quit holding my legendary annual Columbus Day party -- and not out of a sudden burst of cultural awareness, but because I decided it was foolish to celebrate the legacy of some jackass who got hopelessly lost, then stubbornly refused to admit it. Which is pretty much the story of every family vacation I've ever led. "No, kids, pay no attention to the arch; this is Mt. Rushmore."

But finally, and more to the point, I was taken aback because I realized the answer to her question was: Yes, probably so. (Consider these reports of the Thanksgiving culture war from recent years: http://fxn.ws/bf6HWk and http://bit.ly/dALPjh)

So, what's new, right? We all figured out long ago that much of what we were taught as children turns out to have been a complete, propagandistic load of crap -- George Washington and the cherry tree, the single-bullet theory, algebra and, of course, the tale of the First Thanksgiving in 1621 as basically an outdoor version of the Old Country Buffet, tables groaning under the weight of an endless variety of food, the European settlers and Native Americans breaking bread together in great comity before the menfolk gathered to watch the Detroit Lions get their butts kicked, the womenfolk mapped out plans for Black Friday shopping and the childrenfolk forlornly pointed their Wii remote controls toward the forest and longed for the invention of television..

It took a little longer for many of us to be sensitized to the fact that history is, as they say, usually written by the winners, but that working into that history the perspective of the "losers" makes for a far more complete, fascinating, richer -- albeit less comfortable and sometimes downright squirm-inducing -- story. And that certainly goes for the true story of the first Thanksgiving.

I acknowledge this as a fairly typical middle-aged European-heritage white guy in 2010, I feel at least a little guilty to have been born into the conditions into which I was born, though I did nothing to deserve such a break, and guilty, too, that my place in life is built, at least in part, on the backs of others on whom my ancestors trod, or worse -- but not nearly so guilty that I'd be willing to give it up. (I know it is fashionable among some of my fellow male palefaces to whine that the world has turned on us these days, but please, guys, look around; it appears most of us still are doing all right for ourselves.)

So, millions of Americans next week will celebrate Thanksgiving in the traditional way -- food, football, perusing Christmas sales ads, a little too much wine leading to a family argument or two, then an escape to the movie theater, followed by reconciliation later that evening over turkey and stuffing sandwiches. No one seriously believes -- though some may unseriously believe -- that such celebrations are insensitive or oppressive, though our gastrointestinal systems might disagree.

I will say this, however: While I don't know how my wife will celebrate Thanksgiving with her preschoolers, I promise you it won't involve me dressing up as a Pilgrim or an Indian.

Though a grouchy turkey is a distinct possibility, I suppose.