Thanksgiving in Paris

To the rest of the world, Thanksgiving must seem like the most random, hypocritical, hilarious display of oversight and self indulgence. Non-celebrants probably see it as a time for Americans to eat, and it is easy to see why Thanksgiving may seem a little silly. Today there's barely anything reminiscent of that first cold winter and the pilgrims' dire circumstances; the Indian generosity which ultimately saved the pilgrims' lives; and the interracial bonding that ensued.

I must say however, that I don't have an unbiased opinion. I love Thanksgiving. I love the food. I love the tradition of togetherness, and I even love that farfetched story about the Pilgrims and Indians feasting together in peace and harmony (yeah, right.) Most of all, I love that at the root of one of the most beloved American holidays is the spirit of getting together and being gracious for what you've got- even if it doesn't seem like much.

I hadn't thought it would be possible to capture the spirit of this celebration abroad. It turns out however, that so beloved is this American tradition that it has managed to make its way across the pond. The November issue of FUSAC magazine (France USA Contacts) featured dozens of personal ads placed by Americans looking for fellow revelers to join their tables and partake in their pecan pies. The holiday even supports a successful business. At "Thanksgiving" (20 Rue St. Paul, Paris 75004) one can purchase the entire spread of Thanksgiving staples including everything from Philadelphia cream cheese to the ribbed gelatinous mystery that is cranberry sauce. I discovered "Thanksgiving" when my friends Sandy and Winky invited me to join an group of Americans they were forming for the store's namesake event. I hadn't anticipated celebrating Thanksgiving in France, and I wanted to make a contribution to their celebration. So, in an ill-advised spasm of domesticity, I became intent on making yam pudding.

I wanted fresh yams. This demand took Winky and me not to "Thanksgiving" but to the bi-weekly (Wednesday and Saturday) fresh produce market located beneath the rails of the Barbes-Rochechouart metro stop. There, I found (at prices so low I can't imagine the vendors were turning a profit) an array of consumer products ranging from lightbulbs to ladies' lingerie. The salespeople at Barbes-Rochechouart were a bit pushy, and Winky and I had to wake up at 7:30 am to carry our purchases around the crowded market in the freezing cold, but I did find my yams and the flower guy threw two roses into our bouquet for free!

Hours later, turkey and yam pudding gone, I sat at Sandy and Winky's table among a group of Americans with whom I had nothing in common but the color of my passport (and one Swiss guy who'd managed to wrangle an invite and hop on for the ride). Despite the morning's shopping experience (which had certainly made me feel like a pilgrim) I couldn't shake the feeling that I still wasn't thinking- or more specifically thanking like one. We'd gone around the table with the obligatory, "I'm thankful for..." And the exercise had gotten me to thinking: what did I have to be thankful for, really?

Most of the world's people carry on with their lives and give thanks as the occasion arises. We Americans have devoted an entire day to the cause. Why the big to-do? Is Thanksgiving just, as everyone else assumes, a holiday for eating? Or is there really something unique to America that we have more for which to give thanks? If so- what is it? Is it something we can take pride in, enough pride to justify a national holiday to the rest of the world? This query roused the table of seriously Tryptophan-fatigued Americans to list the things, ideas, and key historical figures from home which we felt did justify an entire day of thanks.

And we came up with a pretty damn fine list. I was proud of us. Here was a room of ex-pats gathered together for a meal whose excess typified the culture we'd largely denounced and marked the darling celebration of a country we'd chosen to leave. Why the sudden embrace of America? If you'd asked us, we'd probably have said the food. However, as our list grew and grew, I realized that without even intending to, we'd gotten to the true meaning (or, so as not to sound too preachy) the true intention of Thanksgiving: to give thanks for something that is going right, even if it seems like everything is going wrong.

Put a pin in the controversial state of US affairs today and leave it to the side for now. Love them or leave them (or both if you're me) we wanted to think of the United States of America in a positive light, if only for an afternoon. The first to make our list was Rosa Parks, followed by Abraham Lincoln, but we weren't restricting ourselves to great leaders alone. Someone mentioned earlier Elvis singles, and the later John Steinbeck novels. Mark Twain. Light bulbs. The telephone. The Internet. I said peanut butter.

Then came the money shot: The Bill of Rights.

I can feel confident in and proud of the country responsible for the Bill of Rights. I'm willing to say I'm from this country. I can be thankful for it. For the Bill of Rights, I can and I do justify a national holiday. Next year, when that Thursday rolls around, whether I'm in Texas or Timbuktu, I'll eat my yam pudding with pride and say, "Yup, it's Thanksgiving where I'm from. That'd be America. You know, we did the Bill of Rights?"

Thanksgiving isn't just a holiday for eating. The turkey only brings you together. It's stuff like peanut butter that gets you to stick with.