South 12th

A few Thanksgiving traditions.

• “We Gather Together.” This is the hymn that our family sings before the meal every Thanksgiving. It’s a Dutch patriotic hymn from the 16th Century, translated into English in the 19th Century and first appearing in American hymnals in the early 20th Century. I’ve often wondered, why a hymn? The portion of the Sturdevant family from which this tradition has been handed down was and remains fairly secular humanist. I can see a few threads worth connecting, though. According to a professor of sacred music (who is, uh, quoted on Wikipedia), the hymn’s popularity “increased during World War II, when ‘the wicked oppressing’ were understood to include Nazi Germany.” Ah ha! So it’s anti-Fascism! That lines up very nicely with the New Deal Democratic policies the family has long held dear. There are still photos of FDR hanging in the ancestral home in Cincinnati, where they’re all spending the holiday right now.
• Extemporaneous political speech-making. Nate has just called me to announce that I missed my Uncle Juggi’s very moving extemporaneous speech last night on Eugene V. Debs and his theory that Obama is going to melt down his Nobel prize to make golden tracer bullets for Afghanistan. The Sturdevants were a pretty solidly Democratic bloc with social democratic overtones until the last ten years or so, when a few have started the inevitable rightward shift. In fact, one of my most treasured memories of my grandmother is when she’d learn yet another cousin or someone was voting Republican, and she’d shake her head and say she couldn’t believe it — this will sadly be the first Thanksgiving without her. But moving from the kid’s table to the adult’s table sometime around 1992 was key in my understanding of what adult conversations are supposed to be about: they are about politics, and occasionally about 1970s punk bands.
• Camel. This will be the third Thanksgiving I have wandered over to City Market at Cedar and Lake to buy a pound of camel ribs to cook up for everyone (this year I plan to pan sear them, after having had less luck with broiling in past years). Why camel? Because traditions are born out of necessity. I am not an excellent planner-aheader, as you may know, and often I’ll neglect to shop for Thanksgiving dinner the night before. The only store open in my neighborhood on Thanksgiving is the East African-run City Market, which specializes in halal meats. So why buy chicken or something boring like that when camel is available? And this is the year I perfect the recipe. More butter!
• Football. Historically, this was the part of the holiday where I would wander off in boredom and confusion. But it is recently, since living in Minneapolis, that I have learned from Herbach that football can be a valuable metaphor for all kinds of things. So on this metaphorical note, I’m glad to be spending Thanksgiving with him and Steph and their families at Molly’s house with some other great friends here in Minneapolis. It’s an extra metaphorical treat that Herbach’s beloved Pack is playing today. In fact: I just now received a text message from Herbach that he’s about to present the cold pack cheese downstairs. Time to go!

So a happy Thanksgiving to you, reader, wherever you are. To all of my friends reading this today, in Minneapolis and St. Paul, in Louisville and Cincinnati, in the industrial Midwest, the New South, the East Coast Megalopolis and anywhere else, I am thankful above all else for you. Sing a hymn, watch a completed pass, drink a glass of wine or discuss your favorite member of Rockpile for me, and I’ll do the same for you.