Having spent most of his life in China and Great Britain and only the last few years in the United States, my father hasn’t quite gotten the grasp of a normal Thanksgiving, especially the food. Each year, it seems as if the menu becomes an increasingly grotesque hybrid of Oriental flavors and American traditions. This year was no different. Abreast the dining table there laid stir-fried shrimp served next to the mashed potatoes, a sticky rice stuffing, and lastly, sliced turkey breast stewed in Asian spices that served as the centerpiece of our multiracial meal. However, although the thought of not having a golden, oven-baked turkey to drool over on Thanksgiving Day may seem almost sacrilege to some, I was delighted by the food laid out in front of me. I have to hand it to my father, the man sure can cook! But even though my dad may not know what turkey basting is or even know who the pilgrims were, his lack of knowledge of what a ‘normal Thanksgiving’ is doesn’t detract from the quality time that my father and I shared this past break. Sitting around our small dining table in our suburban home, we enjoyed a delicious meal as a loving family. And even though our numbers only accounted for the two of us, we were able to reflect upon our relationship and be truly thankful for it, even if we didn’t explicitly say so. So in that sense, I would count my Thanksgiving experience this year as nothing but a success, no matter how unconventional it was. Because when it comes down to it, I don’t care how much you crave for turkey, gravy, and pumpkin pie, Thanksgiving is about family. And looking upon the relationship between me and my father, I have yet to witness a stronger one.
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